!!ir 



MmiHn-i.miv'imumsitmw 



miMiiiiiimwiftwtrJirMftTiTmnum 






^>^>»^*^i»»^».^tt^^««^^ 



^.■* 



^^ u. -U -a ;;^- 



"^^=m/ 



4AVfr\\l^' 



--tv^'^ 



l/^ L(.tt renter: KC Right Center: LI. 

;ight Entrances T . ' ) 



Plate i. 



POSniONS OF BODN' 




CUTl. 

Weight forward. 
Curve and Poise of Body. 




Cut 3. 
rosition of Feet and Hands. 
Movement with both Hands. 





CUT 3. 

Action of Diaphragm, 

Weight forward. Position for 

Practice for Tone. 



Cut 4. 

Kneei>ing.— Position with Face 

to Audience. 

Position of Hands. 



Pi. ATE o. 

POSITIONS OF BODY. 





Cut 13. 
Reading, Position of Pvepose. 
Weight on Right Leg. Left 
relaxed. 



Cut 14. 

Position of Hands and Feet. 

Right Hand and Foot advance<L 

Gesture of Negation. 



I- 





Cut 15. 

Extension of Arm and Body. 

Ix)ngest Lines of Movement. 

Firmness of Body. 



Cut 16. 
Objective and Subjective Action. 
Hand and Foot in same direction. 



MOVEMENT 



^^^^^ZiL^, 




1. KluM- ni'iiu ~- --;- 

.^^n^: Step mav be m 




CUT V^ 

liaiKls togetlKTi ^. 
vmpatliy. From 
it point of meetu 
,-ok forms Scale ^ 





CUT '^u. 
Movement of Head. A. 
renter of Head when 
C^^'^'l^- ., . ^Voved forward; 0. Center 

line of sight, ^h^^,*'"] I^..pfingev. aicular. 

The Wrist is on level of toienngei. 



hi:ai) movement. 





Cut 21 



Cut 22. 



Head to light and 1st. Head drop to^^'^a^a^dro^ri'^t 

..tt-keevnnVshouldl«flm. t^Xi^^c" andVrop~1eft to"" 2^'°ld"'Hl.l- 
-Arms folded Pract.cc f ' Kais^ and mo, ^^^^^^ . ^^ ^j „ 

with counts One. auM ^,.^^^.X, 4th, Henrt rotate indirection o 

arrow B. 



BODY movemi:nt. 





Cut 2o. 
To turn Body and Huad. Face liiu; 
i-5 and turu to right, and briuo- lett 
Shoulder and back of \v- -' ' -^^^ > ' ' " 
Same movement to let 




To extend Body; to cuuum. i .«.i.i 
relax the muscles. Kiseontoes and 

f'Ytond arm-- fully. 



Platk fi. 

M(WEMENT BF.T.OW THE WAIST. 



^^^ 



*» 3 

Cut 25. 

Angles Qf Feet. 

Left Foot at O ; Right on lines 

meeting at O. 




■AO 



-47 



1 

(JUT 26. 
Position ot Feet. 
Each Foot may have Nine Dis- 
tinct positions. 



.--8 




^Pf \ \ \ 



Cut 27. 
Foot Circle. Balance Exercise. 
Practice for Ankle, Knee 
and Thigh. 



CUT 38. 
Foot Compound Curve. 
Practice for the Body. 



MU\^M' ^J l^'ROM THE WAIST. 




Leg Exercise. 

Practice for Ankle, Knee, Tliiu)! 

and Poise of Body. 



("rx 30. 

Leg Exercise. 
pru.niop for Poise of Body. 




Cut ol. 
Waist Practice : Body 



Cut 32. 



CCT :^3. 



Movement Exercisas, for Diaphragm and Waist Muscles. 



— 1 



I'l.AlK -^• 

ARM MOVEMENT. 




Ji.>^ 



CUT 34. 

Full Arm Circle. Righi 




Cut 35. 
Full Arm Circle. 

F(>rwar<> :tii>1 Backward I 




Cut 36. ^ - . ' . 

isf. Downward, Horizontal. 

and 1 Upward. 




Complete the Mov 
to Recover. 



ARM WRIST AND HAND MOVEMh-\ i 



^ 



I / 



< ^ 



\ 6 






^^O^ 




^^ 7 



-V\ 



X 




CoiuiKiund Curve j^a^h. • 
Graf-eful Movement of Ai 



CUT 39. 

.and Curve and G^ 





-Horizontal Movement. „C.x U.-Con^ound Cu^ 



Platk 10. 



ELBOW. FOREARM, AND WRIST. ^/^ 




Cut 42. 

Elbow Circles. 
Practice for Fore- 
arm, Wrist, and 
Hand. 



Cut 43. 

Loop Movement 
for Arm and 
Hand, 
^ Gesture Practice. 






/ 



Cut 43. 




u. 




Cut 44. 

Wrist Movement, 
Perpendicular. 



< UT 45. 

Wrist Movement. 
Horizontal. 




Cut 44. 



Cut 45. 



}»r.ATK 11. 

TONE FORMATION. 





ruT n. 



(UT I'i. 



Closed Throat, Veil ot Falat. Open Throat. Veil of Palate 
lowered: Base of Tongue raised, raised; Base of Tongue drawn 

down and curved. 




CCTi 



(TT »■». 



Cut ' 



rosition ot Teeth Position ot Teeth Lips rounded for Urgais 

and Lips. For Tone and Lips for dear- tone: smoothness and 

and Articulation, ness of Tone and fulness of Orotund. 
Articulation . 



rr.ATE 12. 

ARTICULATION. 




w- 



Cut 10. Cuts. 

Cut 10.— Tone 'Direction and Controi. A, Luiynx; li, IMiarynx 
Tliroiit, with Ims^o of Tongue lowered. 

("ill s.— Articulatio 
Consonants. 1, Lo^^'' 
teeth ;':^, Upper teeth: :i 
Upper lip; 5, Tip oi 
tongaie ; 6, Base of tongue ; 
4, roof of mouth, P and 
n formed at lips. T, Tip 
of tongue and base <>! 
upper teeth: K, Basr o: 
toimuc and 1):t( ': ' * 




Cut 47.— Prolon^iiing Sounds. Voiee Movement 



VOICE MOVEMENT. 




and "^ 

Voice. 1 and '-'• 
Middle Swell: -> 
Abrupt Open: 4. 
Abrupt Close: - 
Tremor Prolonga- 
tion ; «. Smooth 
P r o 1 o n L ^ ' ^ 
of Tone. 



M a^m^.-K. (K 







i9.— Inflection of Voice. ^ Kisiuiil 
n. FallinL- Ton.. OuestioH nnd ^^.^^^..^^^nding of Consonant^ 
\ ftirmatiou ^^^^ Vocals. Pitch of Consonant - 




VVT 52.— Circumflex T 
liisinjr and Fallinjr Tone^- 



Cut .54.— Emphatic Rising Voice. 



Plate 14. 
MOVEMENT OF EYES. 



'^"a;^ 



Cut 55. 
Fnlly Open. 



Cut 56. 
Turned Upward. 




Cut 57. 
Half Closed. 









Cut 58, 
Turned to Right. 





Cut 59. 

Eye Exercise, 

Turn to right, to left: raise, 

and lower. 




Cut 60. 
Turned to Left. 



EYE AND BROW. 



Cut 61. 
Separatini?. 




^^■■f^ 



^ 

"-^^T^'^ '^'!l^ 




Cut 63. 
Closing together. 



CUT 64. 

Eyebrows fully Raised. 




Cut 65. 

Brows Drawn firmly Down- 
ward. 




V 



CUT 66 

E>^ebrows Contracted. 



1'La J i: i'». 





iiaiid Position ^ 



I 

Cut 08. 
Wrist Exercise. 
Side Moveiiieiits 




A-| 



Cut «)9. 

w rist Exercist^. 

('irr'le Movement, 




Cut 71 . 
Haiul Exercise. 



COT 70. 
MHiid and Wrist Exercise. 
(4raspin^ Movement. 



BDuK I, 



Practice of Speech. 



Definitions. — Pag-e 

The Object of the Speaker : Characteristics of a good Voice. 9 

YoiCE Formation, — Yocality. — Breathing Practice. - 12 

Tone Fokmation. — Direction of Tone ; Position of Ja^Y, - 16 
DiKECTiON AND YiBEATiON OF ToNE. — To Open the Throat ; 

Exercises : Benefit of Exercises, ----- 22 

Speech Akticulation. — Yocality or Pure Tone, - - 31 

Aspiration, Breath Soxnds. — ----- 32 

Sub-Yocality. — Tone and Breath Sounds, - - - - 33 
Combined Aspiration. — To Produce Consonant Sounds : 

Base Consonant Formation, ------ 34 

Articulation Charts. — Chart of Consonant Articulation : 

Blending of Elements. — Chart B, - - - - - 37 
Tone Range and Flenibility. — Exercises, - - - 42 
Scale Practice. — Climax and Transition. - - - - -±5 
Use of Words. — Examples, - - - . - _ 47 
Observations. — Emphatic Sentences: To Determine Em- 
phasis ; Open and Close Yocal Sounds, - - - - 54 
YoiCE Movement. — Rising Tones : Falling Tones. - 65 
Pitch of Consonants. — Emphatic Up^Yard Movement, - 67 
Inflection of Phrases — Positive or Xegative: Observation. 69 
YoiCE Movement. — Swell and Stress : Orotund Tone. - - 77 
Final Swell. — Abruptness of Speech ; Abrupt Open ; Ab- 
rupt Open and Close : Calling ; Shouting : Practice with 
Energy of Body ; The Gutteral Rattle, - - - - 7S 



Melody. — Intoning Sentences, - - - - - - 84 

Pauses — Figures of Speech, ------ 88 

MOVEMENT.— Head Movement ; Forward or Backward, - 93 
Body Movement. — Tnrning ; Extension ; Swaying, - 95 
Waist Movement. — Below the Waist ; Kneeling, - - 97 
Arm Movement. — Full Arm Stroke ; Raising the Arm ; Full 

Arm Movement ; Circle ; Combined Circle ; Compound 

Curves ; Horizontal Movement of Arm ; Compound Curve ; 

Pointing ; Arm and Foot Movement ; Hand Movement, - 101 
Wrist Movement. — Vertical Combined Arm Movement; 

Hands together ; Long Lines of Gesture, - - - 109 

Movement of Eyes. — Movement of Eyebrows and Fore- 
Head, ---------- 111 

The Lips.— The Nostrils, - - - - - - - 114 

Good Reading. — The Man AYithin ; Limit of Movements, 115 
Action. — Subjective and Objective, — Hlustration, - - 119 
Mind Conception. — Like and Dislike , Positive or Negative ; 
the Feet ; the Body ; the Head : the Eye ; Lips and Hands ; 
the Sympathetic, - - - - - - - -122 

Gesture-Action. — Gesture, Word Pictures ; Gesture, Nega- 
tive and Positive ; Negative, Positive or Affirmative ; 
Breathing, Relaxation, - - - - - - - 129 

Stage Movements, - - - - - - - -135 

Position of Body. — Standing, Stepping, Walking, Run- 
ning; Positions of Standing,- - - - - • - 136 

Stepping. — The Feet; the Knees; the Arms, - - - 139 
Position of Hands. — The Line of Movement; Scales of 
Intensity, --------- 141 

Stammering and Stuttering, ----- 144 

Ventriloquism. — Exercises; Sound Imitations, - - 146 



BDnK II, 



Successful Selections. 



No. Page 

1. The Clover Meadow, 

2. Boys ill Blue. - . - . 
8. Burned Out, 

4. In the Bottom Drawer, 

5. A Traveler's Evening: Sons:. - 
0. Hours of Night. _ _ _ 

7. The Orchard Tree. 

8. E Pluribus Unum, - - _ 

9. Sheridan's Ride, _ _ _ 

10. LaFayette. . . - . 

11. The Lament of Alpin, 

12. The Old Clock on the Stairs. 

13. The Leper, - _ . . 

14. Brutus Over the Dead Lucretia. 

15. The Burial of Moses. - 

16. The Octoroon, 

17. Rock Me To Sleep, 

18. My Mother's Song, 

19. Lariat Bill — The Engineer's Story 

20. The Guardian Angel, 

21. Fashionable School Girl, 

22. Old Chums, 

23. Labor, _ _ . . - 

24. Connor, - - - - 

25. Eugene Aram's Dream, 

26. The Brakeman at Church, 

27. What the Clock Saw, - . - - 

28. Over the Hill from the Poor House, - W. Carleton. 

29. The Bartender's Story, - - Peleg ArTiwrlght, 

30. Aunty Doleful's Visit, - - - Mary Kyle Dallas. 95 

31. Cuddle Doom, - . _ - Alexander Anderson, 97 

32. Belshazzar's Doom. _ _ _ _ . 98 

33. I Have Seen an End of all Perfection, Mrs. Sigourney, 102 

34. Cato on Immortality, - _ . . Addison, 106 

35. Potency of English Words, - John S. Mcintosh, 107 

36. Why Girls Can't Whistle. - - - 108 



Byron W. King, 

Ingersol, 

Carrie Hea, 

- Mrs. Hemans. 

Byron W. King. 

Byron W. King, 

Geo. W. Curtis. 

- T. B. Reed, 

Charles Sprague, 

Ossian, 

Longfelloic, 

X. P. Willis, 

- J. H. Payne, 

C. F. Alexander, 

Byron W. King, 

Byron W. King. 

Puch. 

Julia Mills Dunn, 

Alice Carey, 
Uiomas Carlyle, 

Tliomas Hood, 
R. J. Burdettc. 



10 
12 
13 
15 
17 
22 
25 
27 
29 
31 
33 
36 
38 
41 
49 
50 
50 
53 
56 
59 
61 
63 
72 
79 
S3 
87 
90 



37. Gwiiie Away, 

08. The Kitchen Poker, 

09. Engineers' Making Love, 

40. Hamlet's Soliloquy, 

41. The Bells of Shandon, 

42. Hymn to the Night, 
48. Scene from Hamlet, 

44. The Village Blacksmith, 

45. Murder of King Duncan, 

46. Mother, _ _ . 

47. Centennial Hymn, 

48. The Kaven, _ . _ . 

49. An Original Love Story, 

50. Heart's Ease, - - - 

51. Barbery Frickey, 

52. Remembrance, _ - _ 

53. Easter Morn. 

54. Fanny and I, 

55. Evening Bells, 

56. Asleep at the Switch, 

57. Mr. and Mrs. Bowser. 

58. Miss Edith Helps Things Along, 

59. Billy Grimes, the Drover, 

60. Through the Tunnel, 

61. Surly Tim's Trouble. 
92. Alone, - _ - _ 

63. The Green Mountain Justice, _ . _ 

64. The Dutchman's Serenade, _ _ _ _ __ 

65. Mr. Spoopendyke Explains the Weather Bureau, 

66. Burglar Bill, _ _ _ _ 

67. The Nation's Dead, _ _ _ Byron W. Khuj, 

68. Glory, - - - - - - Dr. Wayland, 

69. The Wounded Soldier, 

70. A Similar Case, - - - - - - 

71. Long as the Tide Shall Flow, - Byron W. Kimj, 

72. The Difference, 

73. The Ship of Faith, • - _ _ 

74. The Curse of Regulus, _ _ _ _ — 

75. Jim Brown's Sisters Wedding. _ . _ 

76. Life, - ----_-_ Wallace, 

77. How J^uby Played, - - - - , 

78. The Bobolink, _ . _ . - The Aldine, 

79. Where's Annette, , 

80. The Model Discourse, . - . - 

81. One of His Names, - - - Josephine Pollard, 



R. J. Burdette, 

Shaliespeare, 

Fatfier Prout, 

Longfellow, 

- Shakespeare, 

Lonfjfellow, 

Shakespeare, 

John G. Whlttier, 
Edgar A. Poe, 



- German Version, 

- Byron W. King, 

Moore, 

George Hoey, 

Mrs. Bowser, 

- Brete Harte, 



R. J. Burdette, 



109 
110 
112 
114 
115 
116 
117 
120 
122 
126 
128 
129 
135 
136 
138 
140 
141 
142 
144 
145 
148 
153 
155 
156 
157 
!69 
169 
172 
174 
174 
180 
183 
184 
187 
188 
189 
190 
192 
195 
198 
200 
206 
208 
213 
216 



Practice of Speect) 



AND 



jttccessful ^electiona. 



BV 



y^ rOPYRlGHr "n? 

APR 1 1B89-r) 



BYRON \V. KING, A. M., 



PITTSBURGH, PA. 



VC53 



COPYRIGHT 188 



BYRON W. KING. 



W. T. NICHOLSON, PRINTER AND BINDER, PITTSBURGH, PA. 



Curry ScTkkA of Elocutfon and 
Dramatic Culture. 

p,-«.*«r«;,. PREFACE. 



I am impelled to the publication of this book by 
several motives. But chiefly, by the constant and 
general request for a short but comprehensive manual 
of practical exercises for vocal training and a list of 
selections fitted for general drill and practice. This 
request has seemed to me much more urgent, because ' 
of the source from whence it comes. During some- 
thing o\ er twelve years of professional work, it has 
been ni}' pleasant office to appear in over two 
thousand public entertainments, to drill classes in 
some sixt}' Academies, Colleges and Universities, 
and to have enrolled over twelve thousand students^ 
It is because the request has come and still comes 
from these patrons and pupils, that I look upon it as 
not to be disrep;arded. Manv of these former students 
are at present Principals and Teachers in Schools, 
Academies and Colleges, more than two hundred of 
them being professional teachers of Reading and 
Elocution, and these generally ha\'e asked me to put 
these exercises into book form. 



But I have also a more personal reason. — I need 
this book myself for my present students. These 
exercises as I have arranged them and teach them 
are contained in no published work; therefore, I feel 
to have them printed will greatly advantage my 
students and thus further my own work of instruc- 
tion. 

The fact is, I have prepared this work for 
Students — not for any other class of individuals. 
There are many hundreds of volumes that have been 
kindly furnished for elocutionists, but the students 
have been much neglected. It is true that many 
books in this subject have been written, well written, 
finely printed and well bound, and are excellent 
works — for elocutionists. But I trust this book, even 
if deemed unworthy the notice of the few lonely, 
lofty w^atchmen on the pinnacles of Expression, may 
find a w^elcome and prove beneficent to the man}- 
earnest though humbler workers. 

I have given principles instead of rules. I wish 
pupils to learn to think and feel and to express this 
thought and feeling. I despise all imitations and 
imitative systems of elocutionary training. 

That these principles and exercises are at variance 
with the opinions and practices of many teachers and 
books, I have not the slightest doubt ; on the contrary, 
I know this to be the case ; for that reason, among 
others, I publish this book. I give the results of 
many years experience with the practice and com- 
parsion of many systems and plans of work. I 
profess and claim still to be an ardent ScarcJier afte?" 
facts of Expression, This study has been to me one 
of benefit and delight. I have learned to look for 
principles instead of rules and in this book I suggest 



what I ha\x' tound to be most practical as a method 
of study. I would summarize it thus: — Back of all 
must be an Intellect to know and think, and a Soul to 
feel ; then, develop and train the mechanism of Voice 
and Action that all parts respond harmoniously to each 
impulse of Thought and Feeling. 

And so, with high hopes of further advancement 
on my own part as well as yours, 
I am sincerely, 

BYRON W. KING. 



Book L 



r©^ 



Practice of Speech. 



^Q-< 



—"Wit. words and worth; Action and ntteraucc and the power of 
.-iprrrh. to stir men's blood I" — STiahr:<prarr. 



— "Many an idea has been driven home by an explosive tone."- 
Beeeher. 



"Do nothing- in imitation of a teacher. — avoid all his mannerisms. 
But, if he shows you underlying- principles of speaking-, — exercises to 
develop and train your voice, to make you graceful in gesture, practice 
perseveringly, patiently and critically." — Jno. B. Gouqli, Lecture on 
EJoquence. 




'"Not an eminent orator lias lived 
but is an example of industry Yet 
the almost universal feeling appears 
to be that eminence is the residt of 
aecident ; tlius multitudes who come 
forth as teachers and giddes suffer 
tJiemselves to be satisfied zuith the 
most indifferent attainments — a mis- 
erable mediocrity. 

For any other art tJiey i<)oidd have 
sarved an apprentice slap, and zvotdd 
be ashamed to practice it in public 
before they had learned it. If one 
zuere leanung to play the flute for 
public exhibition, hozu many hours 
and days woidd lie spend in giving 

— \ ^ ^-- facility to las fingers and attaining 

the pozver of tJie szueetest and most expressive execution ! 
If lie zuere devoting liimself to the organ, hozu many 
months and years zvould lie labor tliat he miglit knozv 
its compass and become master of its keys and be 
able to drazv out at zuill all its various combinations 
of sound, — its full ricliness and delicacy of expression ! 
And yet, lie zv ill fancy the grandest of all instruments 
7nay be played upon zvithout study or practice I He 
comes to it a mere lumistructed tyro and thinks 
at once to manage all its stops and command the 
zvhole compass of its varied and comprehensive pozver. 
He finds himself a bungler; is mortified at Jiis failure 
and settles it in his own mind that the attempt is 
unaz 'ailino-. " — Ware. 



T DEFINE PRACTICE OF SPEECH as the Art 
^ of expressing Thought and Emotion. 

The media of Expression are three : \^oice. Action 
Words, 



10 Practice o/ SpeecJt 



The first and second are natural; the last, artificial. 
It is the object of these exercises to develop the 
student in three ways : 

1. To develop and cultivate the Voice — to render 
it powerfi.ll, flexible, sympathetic and durable. 

2. To gain fi.ill control of the Body, — to make 
him master of himself, that every part of the Body 
shall respond harmoniously to each impulse of 
Thought and Emotion. 

3. The l^se of Words. — To trace the line of 
Thought throughout the phrases and sentences of 
Discourse, and apply the powers of Voice and Action 
to the ideas exclusively. 

These, then, are three essentials for the 
speaker : good Voice, good Action , good Adaptation 
of Voice and Action. 

By '' Practice of Speech," I mean the Art of 
Actual Speaking — the facts of expression as opposed 
to theories. I desire to be practical throughout. 



WHAT IS THE OBJECT OF THE SPEAKER? 

Briefly stated, — to make his auditors think as he 
thinks, feel as he feels, determine as he has determined. 
He is an earnest man who has persuaded himself and 
is now trying to persuade others. He would convince 
them with Reason, swa}^ them with Emotion and 
govern them with the power of his IVHL 

'' But all cannot do this!" JV/iynotf If man- 
kind are not equally gifted, are they not similarly so? 
Some indeed think more profoundly, feel more deeply 
and determine more fully ; but why should not any 
man give the fullest expression to his best conceptions, 
thoughts and emotions ? 



And Successful Selections. li 



In other matters, we all say with Shakespeare's 
character : '' Hav^e we not e\xs ? Have we not hands, 
organs, senses, affections, passions ? Fed with the 
same food ? Subject to the same diseases ; healed 
by the same means? Warmed and cooled by the 
same winter and summer ? If you prick us, do we 
not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If 
you poison us, do we not die ? If we are like you in 
all the rest, shall we not be like you in that ?" 

So, if we are alike in form of flesh and bone and 
blood, breathino- and sensible, illumed bv soul-fire to 
feel and to discern, to reason and determine, why not, 
at least, similar in expression of Tlionglit, Feeling and 
WilU 

Surely no one can be found whose composition 
is so entirely of clay, that he is insensible to the 
physical, mental and moral world about him ! Whose 
blood ne\'er warms with love, nor chills with fear • 
whose pulse is not stirred b}' anger, nor slowed with 
sorrow ; who cannot .admire heroism, nor despise a 
craven deed ; whose eye never shows sign of pit\\ 
wonder, or astonishment ; whose lip is guiltless of 
mirth, or of scorn ; or, whose body bows not in 
reverence to his Maker, nor rises proudly erect to 
resent insult ! But, //"such, lie cannot acquire the spell 
that binds and moves and melts and sways a multitude. 
It needs a man to sway men — not an idiot or a brute. 

Expression is but the manifestation of the in- 
visible, indwellino- Life. 



WHAT ARE THE CHARACTERISTICS OF A 
GOOD VOICED 
I would say, a good J^oiee is clear, f?ill, deep, 
round, i eso?iant, lueU-modulated, sympatlietic and durable. 



12 



Practice of Speech 



To be more definite: By clcaniess^ I mean a ring- 
ing, bell-like quality; by fulness^ I mean a large 
amount of sound ; by depth, I mean an undertone or 
sonorous quality ; by roundness^ I mean a smooth, 
tube-like quality ; by resonance, I mean a vibratory 
quality, such as the tone of a violin ; by niodidation, 
the power of changing from one pitch to another in 
harmony with the sentiment or thought, and also, the 
power of making the tones soft or strong upon any 
pitch or any quality of voice; by sympathetic voice, I 
mean a voice that by its tones, inflexions and cadences 
alone, — independent of words — can portray all changes 
of Thought and shades of Feeling ; by a durable voice, 
I mean one that is capable of two, four, six, or eight 
hours of use daily, without causing hoarseness, huski- 
ness or irritation of the vocal organs. 

To obtain these characteristics or qualities of 
voice is our present aim. 



VOICE FORMATION. 




'' I zuotdd advise every aspi- 
rant to eloquence to carefully 
CULTIVATE his voicc, to acquire 
a perfect command of that oi'- 
gan, if possible. By careful, 
earfiest frequent training, a 
defective voice may not only be 
improved, but an astonishing 
masteiy gained over it. A 
naturally hai^sh voice, which^ 
zvithout training, woidd grate 
upon the eai^s of others, may 
be so brought into subjection as 
to become musical in all its 
niodiUations. A power may be 
gained of uttering clear, pro- 



And Successful Selections. 13 

lo)igcd, tnojipct tones, or sounds as szvcct and poictrating 
as tlic echoes lingering aoont the soul long after their 
liqs Iiave ceased speaking to us, — as some 7'oices zuill 
echo o}i forever r — John B. Gouoh. 



VOCALITY. 

Action of DiapJiragni — Breathing, Production of 
Tone — Directing the Tone Cuii'ent. 

What are the conditions for the proper Produc- 
tion of Tone ? 

1 . Proper Action of the Diaphragm. 

2. The Throat and Pharynx well Open. 

3. The Curroit of Tone directed ivell fori^^ard from 
the Throat. 

Briefly, the power that produces the tone is at 
the waist — the diaphragm ; the instrument of tone is 
in the throat — the lar}mx; the quahty of tone, after its 
formation depends upon the expansion of the pharynx 
and the manner in which the tone is directed past the 
teeth and lips. The only noticeable action in the pro- 
duction of tone should be that of the diaphragm. No 
movement or exertion, whatever, should be felt at the 
throat. 

In all strong, physical exercises, the diaphragm 
plays a most important part. Place the hands at the 
waist, while walking briskly, ascending stairs, running ; 
or note the movement of these muscles while fencing, 
boxing, lifting some heavy weight, and you will ob- 
serve a vigorous action of the diaphragm. 

These muscles are capable of an outward move- 
ment of several hundred pounds' pressure, and it is by 
their action, properly directed and controlled, the tone 
should be produced. 



14 



Pnifitlce of Speech. 




right foot 



BREATHING PRACTICE. 

Draw-iuo- Rrcatli. 

Stand as in Cut 3 
advanced, supporting the body; 
hands at waist, fingers to the front 
Now, draw a quick, full breath, 
moving the hands outward as much 
as possible. Draw tliis breath 
through the lips, and keep the 
shoulders firm as possible. Breathe 
again, with a quick gasp^ moving 
the waist outward quickly and firmly. 
. .. Practice until you can do this with 

i:^ — the action of the diaphragm^ with- 
out movement of the shoulders. 
Learn to breathe in this way and 
out of breath" while speaking. 



. Cuts, 
vou will never be 



2. Holding the Waist Finn. 

Fill the lungs as in exercise i^ and holding the 
entire body firm, retain the breath from ten to thirty 
seconds. Do not hold breath long enough to cause 
dizziness. Repeat this exercise and when holding the 
waist firm, strike the waist with the tips of the fingers, 
very lightly, at first ; then, more vigorously. Repeat 
each exercise six times. 

3. Respiration. 

Round the lips well as if to form ; blow all the 
air from the lungs. Then, keeping lips rounded, and 
the body firm, do not allow any air to enter the lungs 
for ten, fifteen, twenty or even thirty seconds. After 
waiting as long as you can with convenience, draw the 
air suddenly into the lungs, filling them to their 
utmost capacity, expanding the waist fully and forcibly. 
Repeat. 



And Siiccoisfnl Selections. 15 

4. W^a/kino- Practice for Breatliinir. 

Fill the lungs as in exercise i. Hold the waist 
muscles firmly out and walk across the room. Walk- 
again, and draw a quick breath when necessary. Prac- 
tice frequently, a few minutes at a time, and you will 
soon be able to hold these muscles firm when walking 
upon the street. Observe, that you are to fill the lungs 
each time quickly and with a movement at the 
waist alone, without raising the chest. This single 
practice will double the power of many \-oices in six 
weeks. 

5. Breathe now, and count i, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 
10; I, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10; I, 2, &c., and after 
each 10, catch breath again, by waist movement. 
Then practice, and take breath after each 15, as: i, 2, 
3,4, 5,6, 7, 8, 9, 10, II, 12, 13, 14. 15; I, 2, 3,4, 5, 6, 
7,8,9,10, II, 12, 13, 14, 15; I, 2, 3, &c. Again, 
and breathe after each 20, as : i, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 
10, II, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20; I, 2, 3, 4, 5, 
6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 1 1, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20; I, 
2, 3, and so on, until you can run to 50, 75 or 100, 
with each breath. 

6. Give a long, full gasp, drawing the air through 
the lips, as if starting in surprise, or dismay, or sudden 
astonishment. Fill the lungs very full at the waist 
and then allow the chest to expand and the shoulders 
to rise, and hold this breath for some seconds ; 
then allow it to escape by means of a whistle of aston- 
ishment, or prolonged whe ew 1 Make this 

whistling sound as long and loud as possible. 

7. Fill the lungs, as in 6, and expend the air 
upon the sound of S, making it sharp and hissing, 
like the sound of escaping steam, and all the while 
keep the waist pressing firmly outward. Likewise, 
practice the sound of SIi as in Slum. 



1(.) 



Practice of Speech 



Also, upon L as in Ltkc\ keeping the end of the 
tongue against the forward part of the roof of the 
mouth. 

Also, upon ///as in Afe/i, keeping the lips firmly 
closed. 

Also, upon zVas in N-o, keeping the lips slightly 
apart and the tip of the tongue firmly against the roof 
of the mouth, just back of the teeth. 

Also, upon 7?, as in R-oar. Keeping the tip of 
the tongue back against the roof of the mouth and 
held rather firm. 

All the above must be given with great firmness, 
and prolonged as long as is possible. Keep the waist 
firm, and a strong, outward pressure of the diaphragm 
throughout each exercise. 



TONE FORMATION. 



'^ Decp^ massive, res- 
onant, many - stringeei, 
ehangeful, vast in volume, 
of wondi'ous flexibility 
and range, deliveidng 
zvith ease and pozver of. 
instant and total inter- 
change, trumpet-tones, bell 
tojzes^ tones like the ' sound 
of many waters^ like the 
muffled and confluent 
roar of bleak-grozvn pines, 
* * "^ He carried distinctness of articulation to 
the extreme^ — Description of the Elder Booth's voice, 
by Gould, in ' The Tragedian! 




And Successful Selections, IT 



1. Stand as in Cut 3. Utter a quick, short sound 
of long. The waist should move outward, firmly 
and quickh', as in former exercises. Repeat a num- 
ber of times, as if shouting to some one at a distance. 
Do not move the shoulders or the upper part of the 
chest ; but at each utterance the waist should move 
firmly outward, — not inward. 

2. Pronounce the following words, observing 
all the directions of i. Make the accent strong and 
full, and pronounce each s}'llable distinctly. Keep 
the waist very firm : 

Arui-ainoit, Astro-iiovi-ical. 

Inde-pen-dcnt, Abo-rig-ines, 

De-rnoU'Strativc, Geo-log-ical, 

Mon-stros-ity , Indestriicti-bil-ity , 

hidis-crim-inate, Arcli-itccttirc. 

Practice repeatedly, until you give each accented 

syllable all the force possible, and at each accent the 

waist has a firm outward movement. 

3. Holding the w^aist firm, walk about the room^ 
repeating the long sound of A^ — or pronouncing the 
Avords given above. Do not move the shoulders or 
the upper part of the chest. 

4. Observing all preceding directions, repeat 
the following sentences, stopping to catch breath at 
each dash. In taking breath, there must be no move- 
ment of the shoulders, only of the diaphragm : 

a. There was sound of revelry by night — and 
Belgium's Capitol had gathered then her beauty 
and her chivalry — and bright the lamps shown o'er 
fair women and brave men. — A thousand hearts beat 
happily — and, w^hen music arose — with her voluptuous 
swell — soft eyes looked lovx — to eyes that spake 
again — and all went merry as a marriage bell. 



18 Practice of Speech 



b. No more for them the blazing hearth shall burn, — 
Or busy housewife ply her evening care, — 
No children run to lisp their sire's return, — 
Or climb his knee — the envied kiss to share. 

c. How are the mighty fallen ! — and, — regard- 
less as we are of common death — shall not the fall of 
the mighty affect us ? — A short time since — and he 
who is the occasion of our sorrows — w^as the orna- 
ment of his country. — He stood on an eminence — 
and glory covered him. From that eminence he has 
fallen : — suddenly, forever fallen. — His intercourse with 
the living w^orld is now ended — and those w^ho would 
hereafter find him, — must seek him in the grave. 

d. (Repeat rapidly.) You speak like a boy, — 
like a boy, — who thinks the gnarled oak can be 
twisted as easily as the young sapling. — Can I forget — 
that I have been branded as an outlaw, — stigmatized as 
a traitor, — a price set on my head, — as if I had been 
a w^olf, — my family treated as the dam and cubs of the 
hill-fox, — w^hom all may torment, vilify, degrade and 
insult? — They shall hear of my vengeance, that would 
scorn to listen to the story of my wrongs. — The mis- 
erable highland drover, bankrupt, barefoot, stripped of 
all, hunted down, — because the avarice of others 
grasped at more than that poor all could pay, — shall 
burst upon them with an awful change. 

Practice over again and again, until you can repeat 
each example with ease and smoothness. Then prac- 
tice again and make the number of pauses less by one- 
half, and so continue until you can repeat each exam- 
ple with a single breath. 

In speaking, breath should be taken frequently 
and the lungs should at no time be too fully charged 
with air, as it is unnatural, inconvenient, and likely ta 
cause huskiness. 



^4 TIC? Successful Selections. 19 

Remember that cold air expands ^^•hen warmed, 
and the lungs can be acted upon much better, if 
only moderately filled. Observe your breathing in 
conversation, and you will see it accords with the plan 
stated. 

Remember, too, that loudness does 7iot depend 
upon the amount of air, but upon the proper use of 
air. He is not the best cornetist or flutist who blows 
the hardest or uses the most breath, neither is he the 
best speaker who blows the hardest. Develop the 
lungs, certainly ; but use only a moderate supply of 
air w^hen speaking. These exercises I have given are 
for development. Breathe as I have shown and you 
will be able to fill the lungs by a single, quick move- 
ment of the diaphragm, — a movement requiring less 
time than the utterance of a single word. Thus you 
will breathe naturally, freely, easily, and never be out 
of breath. 



Direction of Tone at the Lips. 

POSITIONS OF JAW, TEETH, LIPS, TONGUE 
AND THROAT. 

]\Iuch depends upon the manner in which the 
tones pass the Teeth and Lips. The teeth are hard and 
firm and if the sound strikes them it will have a clear 
metallic ring ; but, if the lips are closed so as to cover 
the teeth, the sound wall be dull, muffled, and the con- 
sonants indistinct. Also, if the sound strike the upper 
teeth only, the tone will be nasal and the consonants 
confused. 



20 



Practice of Speech 




Observe tlircc positions of Lips. 

1. Lateral, as in Cut 5 ; the lips 
slightly parted, as if listening, or 
smiling, showing the tips of upper 
and lower teeth. 

2. More fully parted, showing still 
the tips of the teeth, but not more 
than the tips. Cut 6. 

3. The Lips perfectly rounded, 
forced well forward, so as to hollow 
the cheeks and the teeth are well 
hidden from view. Cut 7. 

A few experiments will convince 

<1^ )j the student of the importance of ob- 

^j^, ^ U serving the above positions. But few 

persons direct the sound from the 

throat well forw^ard to the teeth, and 

on this account the tones are husky 

and consonants obscured. 



Cut 5. 




Cute. 




When the lips are rounded 
as in Cut 7, the sound must still 
be well directed forw ard. When 
this is done, and the diaphragm 
is kept firm, every word and 
every letter of every word, will 
be distinctly heard, — the light 
whisper as well as the fullest 
tone. Remember, that indis- 
tinctness more generally attends loud speaking than 
low. For when loud, the column of sound as it leaves 
the throat frequently strikes the back part of the roof 
of the mouth, and must be reflected forward to the 
teeth and lips. While a properly formed tone should 
be directed from the throat well forward. 



cut 7. 



And Successful Selections. 




'//- 



and 



Cut 8. 

the consonant sounds much more distinct. 



Thus, in Cut 8, the 
sound if directed to 
point at end of Hne A", 
and deflected from 
that point, will expand 
in every direction, and 
will be confused with 
the following sylla- 
bles. But if the flow^ 
of sound be directed 
forward to the point 
at end of line Z>, all 
the vocal sounds will 
be clear and vibratory, 



POSITION OF THE JAW. 

While producing a vocal sound, the jaw should 
be held firm, though not rigid or stiff. Thus the sound 
w^ill be clear, vibrant, and each element clear cut. In 
this w^ay, also, you will avoid the blurring and slurring" 
of vocal sounds, so frequently and painfully notice- 
able in the utterance of mediocre elocutionists. 
For this fault, elocution has received much censure, 
andjustlyso. This frequent drawling out of age into 
a-^Y'ge and time into ti-^^me w^ith the spasmodic gyrations 
of lips and jaw, is nowhere heard, except as one of the 
evils of misdirected elocutionary exertion. It is natural 
to no one, and has never yet been heard from the lips of 
any eloquent lecturer, or actor. There is an after sound 
to these vowels, but it is to be made as little noticeable 
as possible, not drawn out until it becomes ludicrous. 



Practice of Speech 



This sound is best made by a slight movement at 
the base of the tongue, and not by an action of the 
entire jaw. It must be blent softly in utterance and this 
is best done by not moving the jaw. Now, if you 
still doubt this fact, try it both ways. I have spoken 
of it at length, because so many books and teachers 
wax loud — if not eloquent — in praise of that mode 
which is opposed to nature. Some even say these 
sounds cannot be formed by holding the jaw 
firm. Try it ! All vocal sounds of our language can 
be. made without the slightest movement of the jaw. 
For some sounds, the teeth are more widely separated, 
but the jaw should be firm zvhile prolonging the 
sound. The firmer the jaw, the clearer the tone and 
the more distinct the articulation. 



e:h:e:roises 



Direction and Vibration of Tone. 



TJioi read fi'oni the treasured volume 

The Poem of thy ehoice, 
And lend to the rhyme of the poet 

TJie beauty of tJiy voiee; 

And the night sliall be filled wit! i music 
And the cares tliat infest the day 

Shall fold their tents^ like the Arabs, 
And as silently steal azcay. 

— H. W. Longfellow. 




Cut 13. 



And Successful Selections. 



=^~ "^ ~ 






I 



Cut 



/// ^7// 'roc a I exercises, keep tlie iraist firm. 

AT THE LIPS. 

I. La, -a as in age. Pronounce La 
firmly, holding organs as in Cut. Re- 
peat many times. The sound should 
ring sharply from the teeth, and be 
clear and vibratory. It will be some- 
what harsh, but if properly made will 
not irritate the throat. Gradually 
increase the effort until }'ou reach 
your fullest limit. 
2. Sta-a as in age. Same position of organs and 
same sound of vow^el. 

Pronounce Sta firmly and prolong the A ; make 
the sound firm, clear and ringing. Repeat many 
times and also practice in different pitches. If properly 
produced — with waist firm and sound vibrating from 
the teeth — this tone has wonderful power of penetra- 
tion. In the open air, a voice thus produced will 
carry a mile, with but little effort on the part of the 
speaker. 

3, Lo-o long. With lips as in 
Cut 7, pronounce Lo and pro- 
long 0. Try many times, and 
keep the jaw and lips motionless 
after you begin the sound. 
Make the sound strong and firm 
and prolong it. 

4. Sta^-a as in age. Lips as in 
Cut 7. Prolong the A. This will 
produce a coarse, open, vibratory 

sound. If properly made, you will feel it vibrate from 
the hard palate and teeth. Make a vigorous tone and 
prolong it well. 




Cut 7. 



24 Practice of Speech 

5. Sto,-o, as in old. Begin with lips as in 7, and 
as you proceed, open the Hps sUghtly until you 
uncover the tips of the teeth, and thus you will make 
the tone more vibratory, and, without any additional 
eftbrt, you will seem to double the power of the tone. 
Repeat carefully. 

6. Sta-a^ as in all. Position of the lips in 7, and 
practice in same manner. 

Note.— In all these exercises make the opening consonants very 
strong. 

7. Arm. Position as in 6, and pro- 
long this A. Keep waist firm, and 
the jaw still, while giving the sound, 
and you may notice distinctly the 
clear, vibratory quality of sound, as it 
comes from the palate and teeth. 

8. Practice the same with lips 
slightly projected, covering the teeth 

^* ■ somewhat more, and you make the 

sound more soft and flute-like. You will perceive 
that by these exercises you can make tones sharp and 
ringing, or covered, muffled, at will. 

9. 0-ver. Prolong with lips well open as in 
Cut 6 ; making it clear and vibratory. Then again 
with lips as in Cut 7^ making the closed or covered 
sound. You can thus make different degrees of this 
sound. If you close the lips entirely, it will become the 
closely muffled sound of M. 

10. Pronounce the following words and prolong 
the opening vowel — making the sound vibratory. Do 
not move the jaw while prolonging the vocal : 

a. Arvi^ arni07\ arjuament, arch. 

b. On, often, officer, lionest. 

c. All, angiist, atthunn, azvfnl. 
e. Ease, easily, easiest^ eastern. 

d. Only, oldest, overthrozv, ocean. 




And Successful Selections. 



TO OPEN THE THROAT. 

Exercises /or Expansion of the Larynx a? id the Pharynx; 
to lozuer the Base of the Tongue and Ren- 
der the To?ie Full^ Round 
and Smooth. 

It is desirable to make the 
passage for the sound from 
the larynx to the lips, as 
round, open and tube-like as 
possible. Thus, to bring the 
sound from A to the lips, — 
see Cut lO, it is necessary to 
lower the tongue at the base 
D, expand the pharynx B^ and 
T raise the veil of the palate. 

Open the mouth well and 
by the aid of a glass, you may 
observe of the upper part : I,. 

the teeth; 2, the hard, palate; 3, the soft palate; 4,. 

the back or wall of the throat. Of the lower jaw ; I, 
the teeth ; 2, the tip of the tongue ; 3,, 
the middle and base of the tongue. 
You will observe that the veil of the 
palate and the base of the tongue 
almost close the opening from the 
throat. It is the object of our exer- 
cises to raise the veil of the palate 
and depress and hollow the base of the 
tongue, and also to fully expand the 

entire cavity of the pharynx. 




Cut 10. 




Cut 11. 



26 



Praetice of Speech 




Cut 12. 



If you will open the mouth as in 
Cut II, and then make an effort to 
yawn or swallow, you will observethe 
veil of the palate will rise and the 
base of the tongue descend, opening- 
the throat as in Cut 1 2. You will 
notice the enlargement of the throat 
cavity, if you place the thumb and 
fingers at the larynx, close up under 
the chin, as in Cut 9. 

Now, this open throat you must have for the pro- 
duction of strong, full, deep, round, vibratory and 
musical tone. Practice all these exercises with this view, 
of opening and holding open the throat. As long as 
the veil of the palate and base of the tongue are in 
their relaxed or flabby condition, and the throat almost 
closed, there can be no clear, resonant tone. The 
throat must be held well open, the tongue, soft palate, 
jaw and lips, held firmly in proper position. 




EXERCISES. 

I. Round the lips and project 
them well as in Cut 7. Draw a 
quick, full breath. Do this by 
action of the diaphragm, — do not 
move the shoulders, — and allow 
the air to enter through the lips. 
Repeat several times. This mode 
of drawing the breath will open 
the throat. Draw breath, and 
Cut 9. again holding the lips, throat and 

w^aist firm, utter the sound of 0,as in old, quick, short, 
abrupt, much like a deep cough. After several 
attempts, prolong the sound. Repeat often. 



And Successful Selections. 



2. Make the movement in the throat as of swal- 
lowing, firmlv and slowlv% and at the same instant 
project and round the hps well, as in Cut 7. After 
some practice, /loM all parts of the throat in position 
they take in the swallowing effort, and utter the sound 
of Oo^ after manner of Ex i. Practice prolonging 
the sound, keeping the organs all firm while doing so. 

Use the sound of in like manner. Also, A, as 
in arm ; A as in ^^z'll. 

3. Place the lips as in Cut 7, project the chin. 
raise it Avell, thus throwing the head well back. Now, 
open the throat as if to gcirglc it, that is, as if to fill it 
with water and hold it in the throat without swallowing 
it. Somehttle practice in this way will enable you to 
expand the throat very fully. Test the action by 
placing the thumb and finger at the throat, as in Cut 9. 
Holding the throat as if to gcirglc it, repeat all 
the exercises of i and 2. 

4. Lo. Pronounce Lo. Make L ver\' strong and 
'^or 0, project the lips very well : put the throat in 

position oi si^'allozinng, then make this slowly, firmh;, 
as if tryhig to szluiHozc the sound. This will force the 
throat well open. Prolong the sound but do not allow 
any movement of the organs while doing so. 

5. Now. Pronounce .A 7;'cc' slowh' ; hold the tone 
and make a strong effort as if to siual/ozc the sound- 
Do it in this wa}' : begin the sound firmh' and zc/ii/c 
prolonging, project and round the lips forcibly and 

force the throat wide open at the same instant. As 
you do this the sound will open and become \'er\' 
full and strong. The cut 
may suggest it, — the 
point A, the opening of 
the sound ; B where \'ou 




28 Practice of Speech 



make the effort to swallow ; Cy the fuller, stronger 
tone ; D, prolongation of the tone. Place the fingers 
as in cut 9, and test the opening of the throat. 
Practice well, as it is a valuable exercise. 

6. 0. Pronounce as if making a short, abrupt 
cough, to dislodge something from the throat. In 
making this effort, throw the head forward, project 
the lips but do not close them too nearly, and open 
the throat wide. When you can do this, then try 
to prolong the sound. This will require some practice. 

7. No ! Pronounce very firmly and forcibly, No/ 
Prolong the xVand make the strong and full. Pro- 
long the 0, as long as possible, being sure to make it 
powerful. You cannot prolong it more than five or 
ten seconds, if you make it strong. Let it show your 
zm// power. 

8. JjO\ Lo/ Pronouncefirmly and with open throat, 
Lo/ Then, holding the organs firm, except the tongue, 
repeat in the same pitch, but very softly, as an echo of 
the first sound, Lo. After practice, repeat the second, 
several times. 

Lo! lo! Lo/ Lo/ Lo! Lo! Lo/ Lo/ Lo! Lo! 
Lo/ Lo/ The heavy type will suggest the loud tone, 
the light face the soft tone. Keep all on one pitch. 

9. Strike Lo / firmly and make a series of the 
syllables allowing them to gradually die away, 

LO . Lo! Lo! Lo! Lo! Lo! Make each 
syllable distinct, keeping the vocal tone clear. 

Try this last practice, beginning light and gradu- 
ally increasing. 

10. 0. Pronounce O suddenly, as if giving a deep, 
hoarse cough. After several attempts, prolong this tone. 



And Successful Selections. 29 

Then increase the power gradually to your fullest limit, 
making it as full and as long as possible. 

11. No! Pronounce A^o / firmly. Make the X 
strong and allow the throat to open wide for the 0. 
Then prolong the 0, allowing it to gradually diminish 
in sound. Utter the A^o ! as if angry and determined. 
It should show the i^dll poiucr of the speaker. 

12. Practice N'ozu / Xozu / Nozu ! several times 
and holding the throat as in the exercise, repeat 
the following. Repeat each six times, with the slightest 
pause between. 

/. Xozl' d er the one-lialf zuorld — Xozk.^ dcr the 
one-half zvorld — Xozv der the one-lialf zuorld — Xozu 
d er the one-half zvorld. 

2. Xozv I am alone — Xozu I am alone — Xozu I 
ant alone, &e. 

J. All are scattered now and fled. — All are scat- 
tered nozu and fled, &c. 

4.. Roll on tJiou deep and dark bine ocean, roll, — 
Roll on thoti deep and dark bine ocean, roll, &c. 

5. tJwii that rollest above, round as tlie shield 
of my fathers, Wlience are thy beams, snn, thy ever- 
lasting light. (Repeat. ) 

6. So, all day long the noise of battle rolled among 
the mountains by the zvintry sea. 

7. Loud and high pitch. Xozu, glory to the Lord 
of Hosts to zulwm all glories are. 

13. Shouting and Calling. As if to some one at 
a great distance, shout and prolong ''Ho !" Make the 

Olong as Ho O, high pitch. Also, ''Over," 

as "O ver ! O ^ ver I say." 

So ^^Hollo ^ oa ! Bo ^^oat ! 

Aho ==^ — ^ y! ' Likewise : ''Rejoice! You men of 



30 Practice of Speech. 



A/ig-iWs ! Ring your Bells ! King Jolui, your King 
and England's doth approach ! Open your gates and 



give the victors ivay!' 



BENEFITS OF EXERCISES. 

The one object of all these exercises is the 
development of Voice poivers. But other excellent 
results will follow their practice. 

1. They develop all muscles of the waist and thus 
give support to the trunk, and render the carriage of 
body erect and firm. 

2. They will correct bad habits of standing, step- 
ping, careless walking, and give vigor and elasticity to 
all movements of body. 

3. They will improve the general health. They 
promote digestion, improve the circulation of the 
blood, and cultivate a habit of full, deep, breathing, 
thus directly strengthening the lungs and increasing 
the general vitality. 

4. They render the constitution capable of greater 
endurance, so you will not be fatigued, out of breath, 
or nervous, after a short walk, running, or ascending 
two or three flights of stairs. 

5. There never was known a case of stammering, 
stuttering, huskiness, sore throat, where these muscles 
were in habitual use. 

Therefore, for health, comfort, voice, ease and 
grace of action, and general success, practice these 
exercises. 



And Successful Selections. 



31 



SPEECH ARTICULATION, 




/ t/ii/d^ I love and iLonor all 
Arts equally^ only putting my 
owji Just above the others; he- 
eanse in it I reeognize the nnion 
a)id eulviination of them all. 
To me it seems as if zclien God 
conceived the zuorld, that zi'as 
Poetry: He formed it, aiul that 
7^'as Scidpture; He colored it, 
that icas Painting: He peopled 
it zcith loving beings^ and that 
'cL'as the o;rand, divine, eternal 
Drama. — 

Charlotte Cushmax. 



Correct Articulatioii of all the Sound Elements of 
our language is most essential to oral delivery. We 
have studied the production oi Speech-Sound] J^ocality, 
Suhvocality and Aspiration: Articulation is the forming 
from this Sound Material the elements of oral speech. 
These Elements are of Three Kinds : — 

I. VOCALITY, OR PURE TONE. 

They are represented by the vowels of our lan- 
guage, as follows : 
A. 

1. A. As in ages, aching, wave, spray, strait. 

2. A. " " all, altars, awful, falling. 

3^ A. •* " arch, artisan, armament, charmer. 

4- ^- *' '* ask, flash, and, bask, clasp. 

5- -"J. " " at, arrow, narrow, chat, character. 
A. " *' air, fairy, parent, fairl}-, stair. 



^^ 



£. 



I. E. As in eve, meed, meteor,. peer. 



32 Practice of Speech 



2. E. *' '' net, message, ferry, pent, wend. 

3. E. '' *' erring, heresy, ermined. 

I. 

1. /. As in idle, time, fighting, fiery. 

2. /. '' '' pin, picture, mitten, Hst, wither. 

3. /. '' " sir, mirth, myrtle, virtue. 

o. 

\, 0. As in over, only, host, gory, woeful. 

2. 0. '' '' on, office, forest, odd, not, upon. 

3. Oo. As in book, looking, woman, would. 

4. Oo. '' '•' mood, food, good, tomb. 

u. 

1. U. As in using, bluish, newsboy, dukedom. 

2. U. '' " utter, nutmeg, dusty, rusty. 

3. U, '' '' urge, murky, purpose, further. 

Oi. 

I. Oi. As in oily, soil, coiling, ointment. 

Ow. 

I. Ozv. As in hourly, bowers, housedog, sour. 

II. ASPIRATION, BREATH SOUNDS. 

These have no vocality, — they are formed by 
the compression and explosion or escapement of air 
from the vocal organs. 

THEY ARE THE FOLLOWING. 

P. As in pensive, repentance, crept, power, apostle, 
spendthrift, picture, impulsive. 

T. As in tenderly, step'd, strict, stifle, tempestuous, 
telling, tell-tale, ticklish, terrible. 

K. As in kent, kill'st, chemical, likened, trickster. 

E. As in fester, feverish, fashion, fools, fiercely, fetters, 
folding, fuse, further, fitness. 

//. As in historj^, heavens, ho^ts, hit, holiness, hustle, 
humorous, highest. 



And Successful Selections. 83 

C/l As in chester. chain, chairman, churchman, chisel, 
cheerfully. 

(Ji/. As in quest, quarterly, quote, requiting, queenly, 
inquisition. 

.s. As in sentinel, sensitive, saturate satisfy, soldier, 
sameness, saucily, supercede, century. 

.S7/. As in shed, shatter, shaking, wash, crash, shoul- 
der, shelter, sharply. 

Sjy. As in spent, spinster, sparkled, sport, sputtering, 
splendid. 

St. stark, styx, stoical, stern. 

T/l As in thinly, thistle, thankful, thought, worth, 
withstand. 

lJ7i. As in whisper, whip'd, whirled, whensoever, 
whatever. 

SUB-VOCALITY. 

TONE AND BREATH SOUNDS. 

In these sounds, the vocality of pure tone elements 
is interrupted or held back in the throat, producing a • 
murmuring sound as in Jlf. If you close the lips 
firmly and holding them so, attempt to make A as in 
arm, you will produce only a low, indistinct, murmuring 
sound. This is the base sound of all subvocals. 

THEY ARE AS FOLLOWS: 

B. As in best, beckon, battering, boldest, buttercup, 

rebel, bitterest, builder. 
I). As in dentist, despair, indicative, deducible, 

doting, dutiful. 
G. As in guest, get, galling, gasping, gold, ghostly, 

regret, degree, disguise. 
/. x\s in jet, Jefferson, gesture, jack-knife, gentlemen, 
juicy. 



:-34 Pr active of Speech 



L. As in liken, listener, lately, lilacs, lute-like, luster, 
melancholy. 

AT. As in mist, minstrel, membership, monarch,, 
momently, mischief. 

X. As in net, necessary, nectar, nevertheless, necro- 
mancy, neither, nightly. 

R. As in rocket, rascal, roaming, rustle, right- 
eously, wrestling. 

V. As in vesture, vivid, victory, vantage, \alify, 
voices, revenge, voucher. 

VV. As in wisdom, w^ickedness, waste, wonderment, 
w^oeful, would'st. 

Y. As in yesterday, yeoman, beyond, yacht, yet,, 
yawl, yonder. 

Z. As in zest, zephyr, zigzag, lose, degrees, resound- 
ing, resonance. 

Th. As in though, they, that, the, thine. 

COMBINED ASPIRATION 



AND SUBVOCALITY. 



PL As in place, plant, help, plotter, plumage. 

Pr. As in price, practical, pretty, prone. 

Spl. As in splinter, splendid, splurge, explode. 

Spr. As in spread, sprung, spritely. 

Str. As in stricken, strife, struggle, strangle. 

Tr. As in tremblest, triflest, betray, tried, trusted. 

Mp. As in hump, camp, tramp, clump, trump. 

LcVst. As in would'st, could'st, likened'st, mind'st, 

await'st. 
N'cT St. As in blacken'd'st, hearken'd'st.. 



Ami Successful Selections. 



Tn PrnducG CDnsanant Bounds 



There are three distinct cUisses of consonant 
sounds, A//>, 7o/{^//r3.nd Palate Sounds. 

Each class has one Base CousoiLaiit, which being- 
well formed, all others of its class may be easily 
produced. 

If you can produce forcibly and fully P, 7^ and K^ 
you can form all others. The reason is obvious ; for, 
if you make these three well, you have developed and 
trained the muscles of the lips and tojigiic, and the rest 
is easy. 

I mio-ht add that this division is verv old — it has 
all the recommendation of many centuries of practice. 
It is formed upon the very structure of the organs of 
articulation. Try it well and \^ou will soon be satisfied 
as to its merits. 

BASE-COXSOXANT FORMATIOX. 




p. Fill the lungs 
well and hold the 
.^' waist firm. Pronounce 
pen as follows: Close 
the lips very firmly, 
compel the waist mus- 
cles to make a firm 
outward pressure until 
the air is forced very 
firmh' into the throat 
and mouth, but do 
(^'^^x^, I'^ot allow the cheeks 

to bulge out; keep the lips closed with great pressure 



36 Practice of Speech 

for several seconds, then allow them to part and the 
teeth to open slightly as you pronounce PeiL Repeat 
this often, making it with great force and holding 
P as long as possible. Keep the waist very firm and 
be detcnnined. When you pronounce the word, do 
not open the mouth very wide. This exercise will 
develop the lips. 

T- Press the tip of the tongue firmly against the 
palate, just back of the teeth at T in Cut 8. Keep 
the waist firm and force the air into the mouth as be- 
fore. Hold the tongue firm as long as possible and 
finally explode the air upon the syllable Ten. Do not 
allow the waist to relax, even when you produce the 
sound. 

K. Draw the tongue back well to A" in Cut 8. Hold 
the air as before and explode it on the syllable Ken. 
You should hold the organs in position a long time 
before producing the sound. These sounds depend 
for their powder upon the compression and explosion 
of air. So, if you do not keep the waist very firm, 
they will have little power. You must keep the lips, 
tongue, throat, in proper position, and firm, but the 
amount of power you can give a consonant sound 
depends mainly upon the waist. Pupils seldom think 
of this. They are of the opinion that the fault is at 
the lips and tongue; — more frequently it is at the 
waist. All the organs must be firm, and very firm. 
Practice these three sounds many times. Then prac- 
tice the sounds of the following tables: 



And Successful SeUctions. 



ARTICULATION CHARTS. 

Chart nf Cnnsanent Articulatinn, 

Arrax(;ei) AND Classified According to Phvsi- 

OLO(;iCAL FORMA'IT(.)X. 



LABIALS 

OR 

LIP FOKMATIOX. 



UNGUALS PALATALS 

OR OR 

TOXGUE FORMATION. PALATE FORMATION. 



P. 



T. 



K. 



P— Pen, T— Ten, K— Ken, 

B— Ben, D— Den, G— Gen, 

F — Fen, L — Lent, Q — Quest, 

M— Men, Y— Yet, Ng— Song, 

V— Vent, N— Net, R— Rest,^ 

\\— Went, R— Rent, 

S — Sent, Z — Zest, 

Z — Azure, J — Jest, 

Th— Thin, Th— This, 

Ch — Church, Sh — Shun. 

H is only breathing. 

M, n, 1, r, ng, are liquid sounds; they may be 
produced indefinitely. 

Practice each word six times, making each initial 
element distinct and firm. Hold each opening sound 
for several seconds. Be sure that every element is 
distinctly sounded. The following order of practice 
will be found beneficial. 

1st. Give the full base sound, making it clear and 
full and vibrant, ringing sharply from the pharynx 
and the teeth, thus avoiding all flabbiness of tone. 

2d. Practice each syllable and word, making each 
consonant element clear and distinct, with utmost 
force and precision. 

3d. Practice all sounds, words and phrases, in 



Practice of Speech 



slow, strong whisper, keeping the waist firm and the 
current of sound directed well forward to the teeth. 



Practice the Following in Like Manner. 



Bake. 


Blade. 


Bricks, 


Blasts. 


Babes, 


Dark, 


Drank, 


Drawls, 


Drink'st, i 


Deeds, 


Fall, 


Frock. 


Franks, 


Freshened, ; 


Fifes, 


Game, 


Groan. 


Grimes, 


Grasp' St, : 


Gags, 


Haste, 


Shard. 


Shards, 


Shak'st, ^ 


Height, 


Jet, 


Jest, 


Jests. 1 


Jestests, 


Jibes, 


Keep. 


Skip. 


Skulks, i 


Skipped, 


Likes, 


Load. 


Slay. ; 


Slats, 


Slyest, 


Lulls, 


Moan. 


Smith. 


Smarts, 


Smotherest, 


Mimes. 


Nets,' 


Snow. 


Snows. 


Sniveled, 1 


Nines, 


Pit, 


Spent, 


Spends, 


Spendest, 


Pipes, 


Quart. 


Squelch, 


Squirts. 


Squelslrst, 


Quash, 


Eail, 


Prate. 


Strength, 


Prat' St, 


Rears, 


Some. 


Shark, 


Split, 


Sw^erv'st, 


Sends, 


Tend. 


Stick, 


Stalks. 


IStalkd-st. 


Tights, 


Tice, 


Evict, 


Test, 


iVestured, 


Yile, 


Will. 


WilFst 


Sweat, 


Wish'st, 


Warm'.< 


Yes, 


Yacht, 


Yoke, 


Shortened, 


Church, 


Zone, 


Zest. 


Zephyr. 


Withered' st, 





BLENDING OF ELEMENTS. 

We must now learn to blend the aspiration, subvo- 
cality and vocality nicely for syllables. The vocal^ a 
hard part of a syllable, must be covered with the 
softer sounds or the words will be very harsh. 
There must be no hissing, sputtering sounds. In the 
following exercises, produce several times the 
Vocal at the top of the list with clear, ringing vocality, 
making it vibrate well from the tips of the teeth. Then 
pronounce the list of w^ords, giving each word three 
times, and also the phrase that follows, making every 
element of every word distinct, clear and smooth. 

Practice also each exercise in a clear, full whisper, 
making each element with the utmost distinctness. 
Also, in a loud iuliispei\ having partial vocality; this 
-will soon give you full control of all the consonant 
elements. 



^ind SKCccxsful Sclecthnis. :>9 

Remember it is not a question of how often nor 
liow long- you practice, but how carefully you practice. 
Fifteen minutes of vigorous practice will benefit you 
more than hours of careless repetitions of words or 
sentences. Train the muscles; get the organs to work 
properly; make P, T and K firmly and distinctly. 
Then you will succeed. 

CHART B. 



Ages. 

Ages, 

Pages, 

Mazy, 

Pa}'master, 

Palefaced, 

Pastr>^ 

Chastened, 



At. 

At 

Rapt, 

Battlements, 

Matchless, 

Characters, 

Arrowy, 

Narrowness. 



Ann. 

Arm, 

Armor, 

Armament, 

Marshalled, 

Martyrdom, 

Harshly, 

Harmonize, 

Harmonies, 

Harness-clasp, 

Architectural, 

AIL 

All, 

Awful, 

Drawling, 

Appalling, 

Alderman. 



Ask. 

Ask, 

Lash, 

Clashing, 

Masterless, 

Fastest. 



Air. 

Air, 

Airiness, 

Chairman, 

Lairs, 

Wariness. 



Armed and marshalled. 

All hearts are marshalled there and armed. 

All hail I war's champion, hail I 

Ages after they ha\-e vanished. 

All are scattered now and fled. 



40 



Practice of Speech 



Base. 

Easy, 
Easiness, 

Needful, 
Eagle-sweep, 
Eastern, 
Greediness, 



£//. 

Elfish, 
Met, 

Merriest, 
Mental, 
Detriment, 
Helmet-crested, 
Heaven-sent, 



Ermine-decked. 
We bewept her death. 
All earth bedecked. 
Earnestly endeavoring. 



£rr. 

Earthly, 
Earliest, 
Merciful, 
Were, 
Heritage, 
Heroism, 
Earthswept 



Ice. 

Idler, 

Idleness, 

Lightning, 

Flight, 

Brightening, 

Wisest, 

White-light, 



It. 

List, 

Mystic, 

Nimble, 

History, 

Hymnal, 

Sickness, 

Stringency, 

Scimetar. 



Sir. 

Mirthful, 

Myrtle, 

Bird-like, 

Stirring, 

Stirrup-cup, 

Birth-right. 



It is my will. 

Whither wilt thou fly? 

This is whimsical. 

Arm with speed and bring defense. 

All withered and withering with age. 

Ye glittering stars of night. 

'Tis mightiest in the mightiest. 

All silent as the mighty dead. 

Beneath the wide-wayed earth. 



And SuccesHful SelectUjns, 



41 



OM. 

Oak, 

Over-borne, 

Hoary-headed, 

Ocean-moan, 

Nobleness, 

Sonority, 



Om^ 



o 

On. 

Onward, 

Oftenest, 

Coffinless, 

Lofty-forest, 

Horrible, 

From-far, 

Upon-honor, 



Oo, 

Ooze, 

Tomb, 

Looming, 

Gloominess,. 

Moodily, 

Wooingly, 

Wooed, 

Would'st 



Book. 



Wondrously, Bookish, 

Once, Looking, 

Wonderment, Brooks. 

From monument to monument. 

Crossed and then recrossed. 

All are architects of Fate, 

Working in these halls of Time. 

Alas! Poor Yorick ! I knew him, Horatio. 

Woman shall look 

I remember most distinctly. 

The combat deepens; on ye brave ! 

On Linden, when the sun was low. 



Use. 

Usefully, 
Music, 
Bluish, 
Lute like. 

Suicides of suitors. 



u 

Utter, 
Nutshell, 
Mustering, 
Murdered, 
New nooses. 



Brutish, 
Grusome,. 
Cruelty, 
Strewang. 



Practice of Speech 



Rude suitors mocked and laughed. 

And mustering came his chosen troops. 

False wizard, a\ aunt ! I hav^e marshalled mv^ clan. 



Chi-t. 

Outside, 

Loud-mouthed, 

House-tops, 



OU 



Soiling, 

Loitering, 

Turmoil. 



And lo! from the assembled crowd 

There rose a shout prolonged and loud. 

An itching palm. An arrow swift and winged ! 



Tdog, RanoE and FlBXibllity. 



Our next object is to make the voice capable of 
wide range of pitch, and of easy transition from grave 
to acute, or acute to grave. 



EXERCISES. 



HO! 



LO! 



NO! 



NOW! 



9 


1 


Lo 


Lo 


No 


No 


.ffowj 


8 




jO 


Lo 


No 


No 


'. fow 


7 


3 


Lo 


Lo 


No 


No 


. «ow 


6 


4 


. jO 


Lo 


No 


No 


Noiv 


5 


5 


. jO 


Lo 


No 


No 


Noiv 




6 


Lo 


Lo 


No 


No 


Now 


3 


7 


Lo 


Lo 


No 


No 


Now 


2 




Lo 


Lo 


No 


No 


Now 


1 


9 


Lo 


Lo 


No 


Wo 


Now 




I. Begin at i and count to g allowing the voice to 
gradually rise in pitch, and after you reach 9, pro- 
nounce ''Ho !" very strongly in the highest pitch you 
can reach with firm tone. Practice many times and 



And Successful Selectwiis. 43 



tr\' to make "Ho !" each time on a higher pitch. Make 
each tone clear and distinct and see to it that the 
voice ascends gradually in pitch. 

2. Shout "Ho !'■ on as high a pitch as your voice 
can well take and from this pitch begin and count 
from I to 9 descending until at g you have as low 
a pitch as you can take with clear tone. 

3. In like manner use 'XO," ''NO," and ''NOW-" 
Some one may ask, why not use the musical scale 

for this work ? My answer is, I intend this book for 
many students. Some of these cannot run the scale 
Avith accuracv. These tones must all be g^iven with 
decision and promptness. Therefore, I fear some 
would follow the scale in a hesitating manner and 
thus shir or drag from one pitch to another. Not 
many speakers are good singers. Few of our greatest 
actors can sing. The same is true of orators. If, 
however, you can render these exercises with regular 
intervals of the scale, good enough. 

But you must not attempt to speak selections on 
pre-arranged and designated pitches. For the pitch 
of emphasis will var\^ with impulse when speaking; 
also the general tone of delivery depends upon men- 
tal energy. The voice must be capable of wide range, 
but the instant of delivery must decide the pitch to be 
used. 

We do not know how many degrees of pitch the 
voice may make. They are like the points in a line 
— of infinite number. For convenience we speak of 
pitch as Loi<.\ Mcduivi^ High, 

Now instead of one word, use a phrase or sentence, 
and repeat it nine times, each time in a higher pitch, 
after this manner : 



44 Practice of Speech 



9. Now o'er the one-half world. 
8. Now To'er the one-half w^orld. 
7. Now o'er the one-half world. 
6. Now o'er the one-half w^orld. 
5. Now o'er the one-half world. 
4. Now o'er the one-half world. 
3. Now o'er the one-half world. 
2. Now o'er the one-half world. 
1 . Now o'er the one-half world. 

So with the following sentences : 

a. The soul should soar to nobler heights than 

power. 
d. I held it truth, with him who sings 

To one clear harp in divers tones, 
That men may rise on stepping stones. 

Of their dead selves to nobler things. 

c. We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts not 

breaths; 
In feelings, not in figures on a dial. 
We should count time by heart-throbs. He most 

lives 
Who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best. 

(/. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of 

the Lord : 
He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of 

wrath are stored; 
He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible 

swift sword : 

His truth is marching on. 

I have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred cir- 
cling camps; 

They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews 
and damps; 

I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and 
flaring lamps. 

His day is marching on. 



And Successful Selections. 45 

He hath sounded fortli the trumpet that shall never 
call retreat; 

He is sifting out the hearts of men before his judg- 
ment seat; 

Oh ! be swift, my soul, to answer him ! Be jubilant 
m\' feet ! 

Our God is marching on. 

(\ Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky, 
The flying clouds, the frosty light; 
The year is dying in the night; 
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die ! 
Ring out the Old, ring in the New; 
Ring, happy bells, across the snow; 
The }^ear is going, let him go; 
Ring out the False, ring in the True! 



ScalG PractlCG. 

CLIMAX AND TRANSITION. 



Begin with i and read the lines from /pc/ozl' upzvard 
until you reach 6, allowing the voice to gradually as- 
cend; then from 6 change to your lowest firm pitch 
for 7 and 8. Make the steps wider until 6 is your 
highest clear pitch, and 8 your lowest. Keep the 
tone smooth throughout and articulate all sounds 

verv distinctly. 

SCALE A. 

D. 6. Lives in death zuith glorious fame. 
N 5 . 5"<? the life tJiat died in s/ia?iu\ 
E 4' Gives her fame that never dies ; 
C J. Death in guerdon of her wrongs ^ 
S 2. Is tlie Hero that here lies, 
A I' Done to death by slanderous tongnes 

( /. Hang thon there upon Iter tond?, 
Low. -< 

{^8. Praising her i^hien I am dujnb. 



46 Practice of Speech 



SCALE B. 

Practice the following in like manner: 

Ji. 6. Or bubbles that on water stood ; 
N 5. Or like the wind that chafes the flood, 
E 4' Or silver drops of morning dezv ; 
C J. Or like the fresh springs gaudy hue, 
S 2, Or as the flights of eagles are, 
A ^. Like to the falling of a star, 

( 7. E'en S2{ch is man whose borroived light. 
Low. \ 

( 8. Is straight called in and paid to-night. 

SCALE C. 

Practice the following, reaching your highest, fullest 
tone at throne, and descending to your lowest on the 
three words ''doivn',' ''dozvn',' ''down!' 

8. Throne, 
7. Of the remotest 
6. Even to the steps Dozvn, 

5 . Of things that seem and are; 
4. Througli the veil and bar, Down, 

3. Of death and life; 
2. Through the cloudy strife, 
I . Through the shades of sleep, Doivn I 

SCALE D. 

Read the following, beginning at your lowest firm 
tone and reaching your highest at the last line. Read 
with Will power — be very determined. 



And Successful Selections. 47 



9. /V/ /?i/i{/ it 0)1 ! 

8. By all the ftery stars 

J. Consinned my brain to ashes u^/iile it shone, 

6. And, through its crozun of flame 

5. Monnt and bnru, 

4. And, like a steadfast planet 

3. That the smouldering vault shall spurn, 

2. A spirit 

I. But, there s a deathless name. 

Practice also the following, reading down the page 

Othello. Never, lago. like to the Pontic sea, 
Whose icy current and compulsive course, 
Ne'er feels retiring ebb, but keeps due on 
To the Propontic and the Hellespont; 
Even so my bloody thoughts with violent pace 
Shall ne'er look back, ne'er ebb to humble love 
'Till that a capable and wide revenge 
Swallow them up I 

Now, by yon marble heaven, 
In the due reverence of a sacred vow, 

I here engage my w^ords. 



Use Df WnrdB. 

THOUGHT-WORD— PHRASE OF IDEA. 



An idea may be expressed by a Word, a Phrase, or 
Sentence. Words are not alike important. In express- 
ing an idea we generally use a group of words of 
which one is the Tliought-Word and forms the basis 
of the group, the other words being merely auxiliary. 

Thus we sav, I am thirsty. I have a book. You 



48 Practice of Speech 



tmist do this. We have three phrases and in each 
phrase o)ic word that is of prime importance. The 
three words thirsty^ book, must, contain the ideas; the 
others but complement the meaning. Thus all oral 
discourse divides into groups of words of which one 
part forms the thought center. Our first w^ork then 
is to understand the phrasing of ideas. 
EXERCISE. 
Pronounce the following words with strong accent: 

1. Inde/>(:7^dent, 3. Wonderful, 

2. Indis/^;/sable, 4. Conduci^^/ity. 
PRONOUNCE THE FOLLOWING PHRASES. 

1. ¥ie fled. 3. 0^/^ will stay, 

2. I am thirsty, 4. This is ternhlc. 

ALSO THE FOLLOWING. 

1. He is inde/>^7/dent. 

2. His services are indis/^;^sable. 

3. This is regarded as zvonderful. 

4. If in thy hands w^ere countless ;^///lions. 

5. Why herein is a wondrous thing. 
Observe in a word of several syllables we pro- 
nounce one syllable with peculiar force — this is ac- 
cent. In a phrase, the tlioitglit-ivord receives an accent 
much stronger than that of any other part of the 
phrase — this is Emphasis. 

A phrase eontaining one idea is pronounced as one 

zvord and the idea is indicated by an accent of Emphasis. 

This emphatic Accent may change in two ways. 

1 . It may be placed upon another syllable of the phrase. 

2. It may be given different degrees of force and 
power. Thus a phrase jnay have as many' different 
meanings as it has words. Ask the following ques- 
tion six times. 



Atid !Surc('ssf'u/ Seicj'tinfis. 49 



1. Did you see Dick last )iio-lit :" 

2. Did you see Dick last night? 

3. Did you see Dick hist night? 

4. Did \'ou sec Dick last night ? 

5. DidjYW see Dick last night? 

6. Didyou see Dick last night? 

/;/ /i/cc manner, t/ic fo/Ioicing : 

Time shall onward sweep. 
Time shall onward sweep. 
Time shall omvard sweep. 
Time shall onward sweep. 

Here we readily perceive four different meanings. 
Repeat, now, this line six times, accenting the first 
word and increasing the accent at each repetition, as 
follows : 

Time shall onward sweep. 

Time shall onward sweep. 

Time shall onward sweep. 

TIME shall onward sweep. 

TIME shall onward sweep. 

TIME shall onward sweep. 

Thus you will each time change the meaning of the 
phrase. Now, as it is not possible to number the 
degrees of power you can give to the word "Time," 
and as each word of the phrase may be uttered in 
like manner, you will readily perceive this phrase 
may have innumerable meanings. But do not at any 
time forget that your work is to express fully and 
clearly one meaning. The author of the phrase meant 
one thing, not innumerable things, and your judgment 
must determine that one meanino- and \'our voice ex- 
press it. You must follow the author's line of thought 



50 Practice of Speech 



and you must think his thoughts, reproduce his emo- 
tions. ''Can we do this T' Yes, you may do more ; 
you may intensify both the thought and feehng of the 
author; you may enlarge all conceptions of the author, 
making the beautiful more beautiful, the strong more 
strong, the tender more tender still. Remember, the 
power of vocal expression lies in the application of 
force to one part of the thoiight phrase, not to the en- 
tire phrase. Apply this emphatic accent to the sylla- 
ble of the word that contains the idea. Do not be 
satisfied wnth uttering words — speak ^'<^^(^^. 



EXAMPLES. 



Practice of Phrasing, Thought Analysis, and 
Emphasis Accentuation. 

In the following, pronounce each phrase as a w^ord^ 
and place the Accent upon the word in Italics, 

I. — The lilacs are in blossom | 

The cheiny flowers are white; | 

I hear a sound belozv me, | 

A twitter of delight, \ 

It is my friend the szvallozv, \ 

As sure as I'm alivel \ 

I'm very glad to see you; j 

Pray, zvhen did you arrive ? | 

I'm very glad to get here, | 
I only came to-day; \ 
I was^ this very mornings \ 
A hundred-miles away. I 



Alul Successful Selections. 51 



It was a zui^arv journey, \ 
H o \v ti/rd \' o ii m ii s t b e ! | 



Oh ! no ; Tm i^sfd to traveling 
And it agrees with me. I 



2. — I shot an arrozu into the air, | 

It fell to earth, I knew jwt-u^licrc; \ 
For so swiftly it flew, | the sight 
Could not-folloiu it in its flight. | 

I breathed a ^^6';?^ into the air, | 
//fell to earth, I knew^ not where; | 
For who has sight so keen \ and strong, \ 
That it can follow the flight of song? | 

Long j'^^ri- after, | in the heart of an <9^/&, [ 
I found the arrow\ | still iinbroke ; \ 

And the song, \ from beginning-to-end, j 
I found again in the heart oi 2i friend. \ 

In these examples, the usual marks of punctuation 
are generally omitted. The pauses occur betw^een the 
phrases. 

3. — The good \ the great \ the Jioble \ and the 
brave \ all slumber here. | 

4. — The golden sun \ the planets \ all the infinite 
hosts of heaven \ are r.hining on the sad abodes of 
death through the still lapse of ages. | 

5. — The lulls I rock-ribbed \ and ancient \ as the sun 
I the vales | stretching in pensive cpnetness between | 
the venerable zuoods \ rivers \ that move in majesty \ 
and the complaining <5r6'^/&i- | that make the ?neadoics 
green | and poured round <r?// | old <r^<:YYr;^jr gray and mel- 



Practice of Speech 



ancholy waste | are but the solemn decorations | 
a// I of the great to;///? of man. | 

6. — The graces taught in our scliools \ the costly 
o/')/a///e//ts I and studied co//triva//ccs of speech | 
sliock I and disgust men | when their own lives \ and 
the fate of their zvivcs \ their cJiihi/'c/i \ and their co/i/i- 
try hang on the decision of the hour. | Then words 
hSiV^ lost their power | rhetoric is vai/i \ and all elab- 
orate oratory co/itc///ptiblc. \ 

Then, pat/'iotis/// is eloquent | then self-dcvotio/i is 
eloquent. | 

The clear co/iccptio/i | o/it-/'u///ii//g the deduction of 
logic I the high p/t/'pose \ the firm /-esolvc \ the daunt- 
less spirit I speaking on the to/ig/tc \ beaming from 
the eye j informing eve/y feature | and urging the 
whole man o/nvard \ /'igJit onward to his object | this 
is eloquence j or ratlie/^ \ it is something gi^eatcT \ 
and Idghc/' than all eloquence | it is actio/i \ /lohlc \ 
s/d/lii/ic I Goddike actio//. \ 

7. — O sacred fo/i//s \ how fai/' \ how p/'oi/d you 
look ! I 
How Jiigli you lift your heads into the air ! | 
How li/tge you are | how //tight]' \ and how f/'ec\ \ 

8. Not as the flying come, | 

In silc/ice \ and xwfear | 
They shook the depths of the desert gloom 

With their ]y//t/is-of-lofty-c]iee/'^ \ 
The ocean eagle soared 

From his nest by the white wave's foam; | 
And the rocking pines of the forest /'oa/'ed \ 

This was their welcome home. ! 



And Successful Selectioyis. 53 



Ay! Call it //o/j' ground, 

The spot where first the\^ trod | 
They have left luistaijicd what there they found | 

Frecdom-to- u ^ or si dp- God. \ 

9. Still I as w\\ liorizoii grew | 
Larger grew my ricJics too; | 
All the world I saw or knew 
Seemed a complex- Cluncse-toy , \ 
Fashioned for a barefoot-boy | 

10. Come I read to mesome/6>rw j 
Some simple \ lieart-felt la}^ | 

That shall soothe this restless longing | 
And banish the thoughts of day. | 

1 1. Heaven is Jiot reached at a single bound | 
But we build the ladder by which we rise 
From the lowh* earth to the vaulted skies | 
And we mount to its summit rouud-by-roiiud. \ 
Only in dreams is a ladder thrown 

From the lowly earth to the sapphire walls; | 
But the dream departs, \ the vision falls\ \ 
And the sleeper awakes on his pillow of stone. \ 

12. Full many a gem of purest ray serene 
The dark unfathomed caves of oeeajih^?iX\\ 
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, \ 
And luaste its fragrance | on the desert air. | 
The burst of //^;'<^/<^;']', | the pomp oi poicer, | 
And all that beauty, j all that u^ealth ere gave, | 
Await alike the inevitable hour, | 

The path of glory leads but to the grave. \ 

1 3. 1 shall enter upon no-encomium upon Massachusetts 

I she needs none. | There she is. | Behold her, | and 

judge {or yourselves. \ There is her history^ \ the world 



54 Practice of Speech 



knows it by heart. \ The past \ at least | is secure. 
There is Boston, \ and Concord, \ and Lexington, \ and 
Bunker Hill; \ and there they will remain forever. \ 
The bones-of-her-sons, \ fallen in the great struggle-foj^- 
independence \ now lie mingled with the soil of every 
State, I from New-England-to-Georgia, \ and there 
they will lie forever, \ 



OBSERVATIONS. 

The central idea may be expressed by a phrase, a 
CLAUSE or even a sentence. In this case the several 
words express but what one w^ord might express. 

Note the following examples: 

1. Week in week out front morn till flight you can 
hear his bellows roar. 

All the words in italics mean but continually. 

2. Day tmto day uttereth speech, and night unto 
night showeth knowledge. 

In a phrase of negation, the negative word is gen- 
erally emphatic and joined to the thought ivord, as in 
the phrases, "I know 7iot zvhere,'' '^Heaven is Jiot 
reached at a single bound," "I am not coni^ to bring 
peace into the world," "I shall enter upon ///;' encomium 
upon Massachusetts." 

Not a drum was heard, not^. funeral note 
As his corse to the rampart we hurried, 

Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot, 
O'er the grave where our hero we .buried. 

You will perceive where a phrase has the emphasis 
— where the meaning is expanded, as it were — all the 
words and syllables of that phrase are closely joined 



Aiui Successful Sele(Moiis. 55 



in speaking. For instance, this sentence : We rise by 
tkv tilings that are under our feet. Here the meaning 
is, "We rise by steps!' One word has all the meaning 
of the phrase "by the things that are under our feet." 
In some examples, the emphatic phrase is written as 
one word, the different words being joined by hyphens. 
You will observe that in each of these phrases there 
is still one syllable — usually the last — that has the 
strong. accent. 

In a sentence composed of a number of phrases, 
the phrases generally form a series and the accent 
grows stronger as the phrases become more impor- 
tant. Thus each sentence will have one phrase of 
prime importance and the others will be subordinate. 
This w^ill be evident by observing the voice in ren der- 
ing any one of the examples given. 

14. False wizard, avauiit, \ I have marshalled my 

clan, I 
Their swords are d^thousand \ their hearts are sll one \ 
They are true \ to the last of their l?lood-3,nd-thexr- 

breath \ 
And, like reapers \ desce7id to their harvest of 

death; | 
Then welcome be Cumberland's steed to the shock | 
Let him dash his proud foam | like a zuave-on-the 

rock. I 

15. I was at work \ that morriing \ some one came 

riding \ like mad j 
Over the bridge \ and up the road \ farmer Rouff's 

little lad | 
Bareback he rode | he had no-hat, \ He hardly stopped 

to say; [ 
''Morgan's men are coming, frau ; | he's galloping up 

thiS'Way! | 



56 Practice of Speech 

I'm sent to warn the iicigJibors^ \ he isn't a mile be- 
hind ! I 

He sweeps up all the horses \ every horse that he can 
find. I 

JMorgan^ \ Morgan the raider, \ and Morgan's terrible 
men, I 

With boiine-knives \ and pistols are galloping up the 
glen." I 

1 6. I don't care z^^hat you say, | I saiv him | and 
I think / ought to know. | You may talk all-day \ and 
all-night, too | but I'll have my ouni opinion. | 

17. Speak the speech, I pray you, as \ pronounced \t\.Q 
you I trippingly on the tongue | but if you mouth it | 
as many of our players do | I had as lief the toiun- 
crier spoke my lines. | Nor do not saw-tlie-air too 
much I with your liand \ thus: \ but use all gently \ 
for in the very torrent, \ tempest \ and as I may say,. 
ivhirkvind oi your passion ] you must acquire and be- 
get a temperance \ that may give it sniootliness. \ Oh ! it 
offends me to the soid \ to hear a robustious peri- 
wig-pated fellow tear-a-passion-to-tatters \ to very 
rags I to split the ears oi t\\Q grou ndlings ; \ who, for the 
most part | are capable of nothing, | but inexplicable 
dumb-sJioiu \ and noise, \ I would have such a fellow 
luhipped I for o'erdoing Termagant] \ it out-herods 
Herod. Pray you, \ avoid it. | 

Be not too tame, \ neither, \ but let your own discre- 
tion be your tutor; | suit the action to the li^ord, \ the 
word to the action; \ with this special observance | 
that you derstep not the modesty of nature \ for any- 
thing so overdone \ is far from the ///r/6>^t' of playing | 
whose end, \ both at the jirst \ and now, \ ivas \ and. 



And Successful SclcctioiLS. 



is\ I to hold, as 'twere, tlie mirror up to )iaturc; \ to 
show virtue her own feature; \ scorn her own 
ijnage; and the \^ery age and body of the time, his 
fonn and pressure. \ No\\% | this overdone \ or eouie 
tardy off, \ though it make the unskillful laugli \ can- 
not but make the judicious grieve; \ the censure of 
which one \ must, in your allowance | o'erweigh a 
z^'ho/e theater of others. 

Oh I there be players, | that I have seen play, | and 
heard others //yz/jt^, | and that ///^///j', | not to speak it 
profanely^ \ that neither having the aeeent of Chris- 
tians, I nor the gait of Christian \ pagan, \ or ?nan, \ 
have so strutted \ and helloiued \ that I have thought 
some of nature' sy(:?/^r;/n7//ev/ had made men | and not 
made them zue/f \ the\' imitated humanity so abomin- 
ably. I 

Four children | were seated round a wood fire | in 
an old fashioned country house. | The red embers 
blazed up merrily | and showed four flushed little 
faces I four tangled heads of hair | eight bright merry 
eyes | and | I regret exceedingly to say | eight very 
dirty little hands | belonging respectively | to Bess, | 
Bob, I Archie | and Tom. 

The hand of the king | that the scepter hath borne; | 
The brow of the priest | that the mitre hath worn; j 
The eye of the sage | and the heart of the brave, | 
Are hidden and lost in the depths of the grave, j 

So the multitude goes, | like the flower or the weed 
That w^ithers away to let others succeed; | 
So the multitude comes, | even those we behold, | 
To repeat every tale that has often been told. | 

For we are the same that our fathers have been; | 
We see the same sights our fathers have seen; | 



58 Practice of Speech 



We drink the same stream, | and view the same sun, j 
And run the same course our fathers have run. 

The thoughts we are thinking | our fathers would 

think; | 
From the death w^e are shrinking | our fathers would 

shrink, | 
To the Hfe we are chnging | they also would cling; | 
But it speeds from us all | like a bird on the wing. | 

I stood on the bridge | at midnight, | 
As the clocks were striking the hour; | 

And the moon rose o'er the city, | 
Behind the dark church-tower; | 

And, I like the waters rushing 
Among the w^ooden piers, | 

A flood of thoughts came o'er me, | 
That filled my eyes with tears | 

How often, oh ! how often. 
In the dajs that had gone by, 
I had stood on that bridge at midnight^ 
And gazed on that wave and sky ! | 

How often, oh! how often, 

I had wished that that ebbing tide 

Would bear me away on its bosom, 
O'er the ocean wild and wide ! | 



EMPHATIC SENTENCE. 



A phrase or sentence, like a word, may be of spe- 
cial importance and demand an emphasis above that 
given to contingent phrases or sentences. 

Thus, a text, a proposition, a statement of preamble ^ 
or subject of discussion — all these demand more em- 



And SxLccessful Selections. 59 



phasis. Also, a quotation is emphatic when used to 
corroborate or with approval. Such a sentence should 
receive, in addition to the emphatic accents, more time of 
utterance, and usually fuller tone. The words are 
connected more closely, and all elements given with 
more prominence. 

Try the following sentences : 

There was silence and I heard a voice, 
Shall mortal man be more just than God ? 

2. This is truth the poet sings, 
Tliat a sorrozvs crown of sorrows 
Is remembering happier ihings. 

3. There is a tide in the affairs of men. 

Which taken at the flood, leads on to fortune ; 
Omitted, all the voyage of their life 
Is bound in shallows and in miseries. 

4. His text, a few short words of might, 
''The Lord of hosts shall ann the right y 

5. We hold these truths to be self evident : That 
all men are created equal ; that they are endozved by 
their Creator with certain ijialienable rights; that among 
these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. 



Td DGtBrminG Emphasis. 



The Emphasis must go with the idea. That word 
is important which suggests the speaker's mental con- 
ception, and only that word receives the Accent, — the 
sign of the idea. 

What zuords are these f 



60 Practice of Speech 



1. The subject of discourse^ if it has not ah'eady 
be spoken or suggested. And, on a larger scale, the 
opening of a speech, sermon, lecture, or selection, 
will have more emphatic words than an after part. 
But the emphasis, though more frequent, is seldom as 
strong as at the middle or close of the speech. This 
will be evident, as at the opening of the discourse, I 
must give my auditors all the ideas of location^ place, 
manner, people, objects of interest^ &c., but when these 
are known, many ideas have been suggested that I 
may afterwards pass by. 

2. IVken my subject is knonni, the predicate i^nll re- 
ceive the emphasis. As each sentence has at least oiie 
idea, if this be not in the subject, it will surely be 
found with the predicate. 

3. Explanations are usually emphatic. As a rule, 
that which we speak regarding subjects, is more em- 
phatic than the subject itself Thus, I say, "There is 
a ///<^;/ on the street." ''That man is President of the 
United States!' Here the interest is not that there is 
a man, but that he is President. So if subjects are. 
known and predicates, then adjectives, adjective phrases 
appositional words or phrases, adverbs and adverbial 
phrases — these take the emphasis. 

4. In general, the neiu thing, the necessary word 
has the emphasis. This is the word that completes 
the meaning for your auditors, that satisfies their ever 
recurring questions — What is it? Who? How? 
Where! When? Why? 

Thus I say, 'T came to the city." The meaning is 
complete at ''city I' and, of course, it has the emphasis. 
But if the ''city" is in the minds of the auditors; if 
some one else has come to the city, then ''/" may 



have this emphasis. Or, if some one has come part 
of the \va\', then '7^/' has the emphasis. It is the yet 
7////^A/ thing that has the right of emphasis. In this 
sentence: "Full man\' a gem of purest ray serene, 
the dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear." Here, 
there is no complete meaning for the listener until 
your voice utters ocean. Then the question is an- 
swered, the riddle plain, the auditor says, T under- 
stand." 

5. All pccnliar facts, incidents and circnnistances are 
emphatic. The same as in a case at /az^\ There the 
deed itself; the tinu\ the day, lionr, nnnnte, th^place^ 
surroundings; the manner, means and motive, the 
names of all people concerned, — all these are emphatic. 
Thus, there was a man b}' name Smit/i, — he came to 
the City, — he went to Fift/i A'cenue, — to house No. 
Ninety-three, — he became angry, — he killed a man^ — 
he was arrested, — brought to trial, — found guilty, and 
executed. 

Thus we have a line of thought studded with i?iei- 
dents, and these one by one are emphatic. Thus a 
speaker proceeds, Accent after Accent, noting ideas 
in their order, so translating his thought to his 
auditors. 



62 



Practice of Speech 



Open and CIdbg VdwgI Bnunds. 




Let us expermtcnt. 

Stand at the 
blackboard and 
place the hand 
and chalk at o of 
the line m m. Pro- 
nounce this sen- 
tence: He is an 
OLD man, empha- 
sis on old. When 
your voice begins 
the sound of o^ 
allow the hand to 
start to the right at a moderate rate and continue just 
as long as you sound the o. Try several times, mak- 
ing the word more emphatic each time, and you will 
perceive the line will be longer as the emphasis in- 
creases. 

In like manner try this sentence : A^nn, arm for 
Rome, emphasis on arm and Rome. Also, Back ! 
Ai^e ye not ashamed, as marked and you will perceive 
that these emphatic vowels grow longer as they are 
made more emphatic. Try each one with the board 
and chalk. 

Now place the chalk at li and take the sentence : 
We had a delightfid time, emphasis on delightfid. Use 
chalk as before and you will observe : i. The voivel 
cannot be easily prolonged. 2: As emphasis increases 
the line and sound are shorter. 



And ^Successful Selectioni<. 63 



Use also the following : 

1. They //ste/i and are attoitn^c. 

2. He has \\i^ fever. 

3. It is offended. 

You will observe that these emphatic syllables shorten 
with increasing emphasis, while those of the former 
exercise lengthen. 

The first are Open Sounds; the second, Close Sounds. 

Open sounds are : — All sounds of a, all sounds of o; 
u long^ and sovietinies u short; all diphthongs and 
double vowels except ea in words like dead, &c.; E is 
prolonged in words like here, merely, &c. 

Close Sounds are : — Sounds of i ; sounds of e; 
usually u short. 

Remeinber, all open soimds shoidd be prolonged for 
emphasis; all close sounds made short. 

This is a most important distinction. The vowel 
sounds of our language have been handed down to us 
from other languages. This division of sounds was 
a prominent feature of the Greek orthoepy. The 
open sounds are so termed, because in forming them 
the throat opens well and the sound has the full 
quality of an organ tone ; the close sounds are best 
formed with the teeth more nearly closed and have 
the quick stroke of a piano note. Thus both these 
instruments are but attempted imitations of the gran- 
der mechanism — the human voice. 

By proper attention to this distinction of sounds, 
the voice will gain much power of sweetness, music 
and variety of expression. To make all Open sounds 
Close, gives a roughness to the speaker's style; to 
make Close sounds Open, gives the drawl that is so 
painfully noticeable with many speakers. 



04 Practice of Speech 



This principle applies mainly to the emphatic syl- 
lables. Therefore practice the following, prolonging 
open vowels for emphasis, and giving close sounds a 
quicker utterance. The manner of prolonging sounds 
we will discuss in next chapter. 

Take the wings of the inoniing, | and the Barcan 
desert pierce, | or lose thyself in the continuous 
wooeis^ I where rolls the Oregon \ and hears no sounds 
save his own dashing; yet the dead are there ! | And 
millions in those solitudes since first the flight of years 
began have laid them down to their last sleep. | The 
dead reign there alone. 

Brutus. Romans, | countrymen, | and lovers ! | 
hear me | for my cause ; and be silent, | that you may 
hear ; | believe me | for mine honor ; and have respect 
to mine honor | that you may believe ; censure me in 
your wisdom ; | and awake your senses, | that you 
may the better judge. | If there be any in this assem- 
bly I any dear friend of Caesar's, | to him I say, | 
that Brutus' love to Cai^sar was no less than his. | If 
then that friend demand, whv Brutus rose agrainst 
Caesar, | this is my answer.* | Not | that I loved Caesar 
less, I but that I loved Rome | more. | Had you rather 
Caesar were living, | and die all slaves, | than that 
Caesar were dead, | to live all freemen ? | As Caesar 
loved me, | I weep for him; | as he was fortunate, | I 
rejoice at it; | as he was valiant, j I honor him; j but 
as he was ambitious, j I slew him. | There is tears for 
his love; | joy for his fortune; | honor for his valor; | 
and death for his ambition. | Who is here so base, | 
that would be a bondman ? | If any, speak; | for him 
have I offended. Who is here so rude, that would not 
be a Roman ? | If any, speak, | for him have I offend- 



Atid Su.( '('CSS fill Scicctloiis. 



65 



ed. I Who is here so vile | that will not love his coun- 
try ? I If any, | speak ; | for him have I offended. | ( 
pause for a reply. 

Practice also with this principle in view former ex- 
amples and exercises on emphasis. 



VOICE MOVEMENT. 




RISING TONES —FALLING TONES. 

Our former experiments were with horizontal lines. 
Now, let us look further. 

Place the chalk at A 
j of the line MAI Now, 
I as if I told you to re- 
peat A and you asked 
me in surprise if I 
nieant.4,as; A? A? A?, 
thus give the sound 
several times, and as 
you do so, allow the chalk to move and it will 
ascend as the voice rises, rather than keep the hori- 
zontal line. Thus you will form a series of upward 
lines as in Cut. Now, if in answer to your A ? 
I should repeat A with strong affirmation, the voice 
will descend and the stroke of the chalk will be 
downward. Thus by repeating the question and 
giving the affirmation strongly, you will observe two 
distinct movements of the voice — ascending and de- 
scending. Practice this with different vowels, E^ /. 
0, U ; also wath words, as All, You. 

Observe as the sounds ascend they change some- 
what, O and U to 00, I and E to EE obscure, as 



66 



Practice of Speech 



these latter sounds are more easily produced on a 
high pitch. In descending, all the sounds become 
more open. Also, you will perceive the upward 
movement in the {:^/osf vowels to be much quicker 
than that of o/}en sounds. 



CIRCUMFLEX TONES. 




When you are sur- 
prised your tor^ rises 
in pitch; if you are not 
long in doubt when 
surprised, the tone de~ 
scends. Thus if I tell 
you something, you 
are surprised, you say,. 
•*0h!'* as if to express, — "I see, I understand," — and as 
you prolong the sound the tone rises and descends. 
This is the rising circumflex. Test it as in Cut. The 
tone may descend in pitch much below the starting 
point. Try in like manner all the following, using 
the diagram as in Cut. 

Oho! Aha! Ah! Yo7i ! All! 
Repeat '^No'^ slowly, as if in surprise, beginning on 
a high pitch and holding the tone for sometime. 
The tone will descend and then rise again. The 
meaning will be, ''No, I did not say that^ you are 
partly mistaken." Or, again, repeat **Aha !" as if you 
made a discovery; some one is at mischief and you 
repeat this word as if you said by it : — ''Aha ! I have 
found you out!' Then repeat ''Oho!" as if the per- 
son retorted it, and made it mean, ''Oho! much I 
care!" and these will be examples of rising and fall- 
ing circumflexes. 



A circ2iinJJ,cx is but the continuation of a rising or 
falling tone.. The voice will ascend to some limit and 
then the tone will not be prolonged on the high 
pitch — which would give it the sound of singing — 
but will begin to descend. Likewise, when the tone 
begins to descend, it will go to a low note of the 
voice and then return on an upward movement. So, 
if you master upward and downward inflexion, or 
tone movement, circumflex will be easy, as it is always 
used where there is a prolongation of a syllable. 
These exercises are to render the voice capable of the 
smooth rising and falling movement. 



PITCH OF CONSONANTS. 



A whisper or purely aspirate sound can not be 
formed on many degrees of pitch. A subvocal sound 
is capable of wider range but even this cannot be 
carried to a high note. Thus in giving a syllable an 
upward movement, it looses, ist, the aspirate sound ; 
2d, the subvocal sounds; and the voice ascends upon 
vocality alone. When the voice begins to descend, 
the final subvocals are first joined, then the aspirates. 

Thus pronounce " slaves " 
with the emphatic upward 
movement and you will per- 
ceive the consonants will be 
disposed as in the diagram. 
The vS will be first dropped 
as you ascend in pitch, then 
the L and your voice will ascend upon the vocal 
alone and to complete the word the voice will give V 
on pitch nearly the same as L or lower and the final S 
will be lower still. 




(58 Practice of Speech 



In an emphatic syllable or word it is necessary to 
blend the vocality, siibvocality and aspiration with ut- 
most nicety, and to do this, each element must be 
full-formed and complete. Should this not be done^ 
the emphasis will frequently render the words indis- 
tinct by making the vocal element much too promi- 
nent for the consonants. 



EMPHATIC UPWARD MOVEMENT. 



Repeat with strong emphasis this phrase : '' Arm ! 
Arm! It is, it is the Cannon's opening roar P' Give 
''aim^' and ''cannons'" with great force and you 
will observe : /. The sound opens abruptly. 2. It is 
prolonged. ^. // ascends in pitch. Try the test of the 
line with the chalk and you will perceive the best 
representation of this sound will be as in Cut. 

This produces a strong, 
crashing sound when ex- 
treme — an outburst of 
I volume that is terrific. 
Practice these words in 
like manner : 

Hozvl! Revenge ! Massa- 
cre! All! World! 
Havoc ! Mtirder ! Treason ! 

Also, the following sentences, applying this to the 
emphatic syllable. 

1. Then burst his mighty heart. 

2. We will be revenged! Revenge; about — 
seek — burn — -fire — kill — slay ! Let not a traitor live. 

3. You are not my daughter. My daughter would 




And Successful Selections. <u» 

never dress in satin while her mother starves at home. 
'Tis a /te / Aiuay f Yon are not my daughter! 
Azuay ! 

4. But he shall pay thee back, until the yellow 
Tiber is red as frothing wine and in its deepest ooze 
thv life-blood lies curdled. 



INFLECTION DF PHRASES. 



POSITIVE OR NEGATIVE. 

We have observed that lang^uasfe divides itself into 
Phrases, each phrase having an accent, w^hich renders 
the meaning apparent. Now Inflexion portrays the 
relation of your mind to each phrase — whether you 
like or dislike the idea. If your mind approves, ac- 
cepts, the Falling Inflexion prevails. If your mind 
disapproves, rejects, the Rising Inflexion has place. 
The ideas you approve are Positive; those your mind 
disapproves. Negative. Positive Ideas give Mental 
Satisfaction; Negatiz^e Ideas, Mental Unsatisf action. 
Ideas of Mental Satisfaction are those of Afjirniation, 
Approval, Certainty, Complete )iess, Command, and all 
these receive Falling Inflexion. 

Ideas of Mental Unsatisf actio Ji are those of Doubt, 
Disapproval, Suspense, Incompleteness, and all of these 
have the Rising Inflexion. 

EXAMPLES. 

I. Did vou sav humilitv ? I said humility. 

• ^ .^ -' 

A question denotes doubt ; it has the rising inflexion. 
The answer denotes certai?ity: it has the falling in- 
flexion. 



Practice of speech 



2. If you can do o/ify this, I am done. 

The first part is condition, rising inflexion ; the 
second, assertion, faUing inflexion. 

3. Think not I am come to bring peace into the 
world ; I am not come to bring peace, but the sword. 

The first part is negative ; the second part, positive. 

4. You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless 
things ! 

Knew ye not Pompey ? 
And do you now put on your best attire ? 
And do you now cull out a holiday ? 
And do you now strew flowers in his way 
That comes in triumph over Pompey 's blood ? 

Be gone! 

Here we have rising tones which show the dis- 
pleasure of the speaker. The circiunflex prevails. So 
when people disagree and have an altercation, the 
rising tones of their voices show more plainly than 
their words their mental conditions. 

5. Tell me not in mournful numbers, 

Life is but an empty dream ; 
For the soul is dead that slumbers, 
And things are not what they seem ! 

All phrases here 2iX^ negative ^hQ,c'dM^Q \nq do not 
believe them. Therefore, we have rising inflexions 
throughout this stanza. 

6. Life is real, life is earnest ; 

And the grave is not its goal ; 
Dust thou art to dust returneth, 
Was not spoken of the soul. 

The first line is positive, the others negative. The 
second line, however, may have downward inflexion. 
It may be given as a positive statement. 



Arid Successful Selectii/tis. 71 



7. Not enjoyment, and not sorrow 

Is our destined end or way ; 

But, to act, that each to-morrow 

Find us farther than to-day. 

The first two lines are negative; the last two posi- 
tive. 

8. In the world's broad field of battle, 

In the bivouac of Hfe, 
Be not Hke dumb, driven cattle! 
Be a hero in the strife. 

All positive^ except the third line, which is strongly 
negative and requires upward tones in '' dumb, driven 
cattle J' 

9. I might, like you, have been a brawler and a rev- 
eler; not like you, a trickster and a thief! 

The first part is positive, the second part, negative. 

10. Not as the conqueror comes, 

They, the true-hearted, came ; 
Not with the roll of the stirring drum. 
Or the trumpet that sings of fame. 

All negative, except the second line, which is 
strongly positive. 

II. O, yes; you please me ! Please me mightily. 
You are most cunning workmen, too ; you put your 
work together so well you never get it apart again ! 

Here you have rising tones throughout. 

12. Come, read to me some poem, 

Some simple, heartfelt lay, 
That shall soothe this restless longing, 
And banish the thoughts of day. 

This example is positive throughout. 

13. Not from the grand old masters. 

Not from the bards sublime. 



72 Practice of Speech 



Whose distant footsteps echo 
Through the corridors of Time. 

Negative throughout. 

14. For, Hke strains of martial music, 
Their mighty thoughts suggest 
Life's endless toil and endeavor, 
And, to-night, I long for rest. 

Negative^ except last line. 

1 5 . Why, herein is a wondrous thing, that ye know not 
whence he is and yet he has opened my eyes. Since 
the world began it has not been that any man has 
opened the eyes of one born blind. 

Negative, 

16. When my eyes shall be turned to behold for the 
last time the sun in heaven, may I not see him shining 
on the fragments of a once glorious Union, on States 
dissevered, dismembered^ belligerent ; on a land rent 
with civil feuds, or drenched it may be with fraternal 
blood. Let their last feeble, lingering glance rather 
behold the glorious ensign of the Republic, still full 
high advanced, not a star erased, not a stripe ob- 
scured; bearing no such miserable interrogatory as : 
" What is all this zvorth, f nor those other words of 
delusion and folly, '' Liberty fir st and Union aftcrzvardr 
but everywhere, blazing on all its ample folds as they 
float over the sea and over the land, that other senti- 
ment, dear to every true American heart: — "'Liberty 
and Union ^ nozv and forever^ one and inseparable!' 

All he zvishes to see \\3,s fallino^ tones ; all he wishes 
not to see, the rising. 



"^tb 



And iSuccessful SelectUnts. 78 



OBSERVATIONS. 



Thus you will perceive that all ideas you dislike , 
disapprove^ have as their sign of your mental disap- 
proval the rising tone. In reading or speaking, where 
the mind is in doubt, as in surprise, or questions, or 
where the sense is incomplete, we have rising tones. 
Of course, there are degrees of rising and falling 
tones. Thus, the close of a sentence may have a 
stronger inflexion than preceding phrases. But, keep 
in mind, that the strongest inflexion is upon the 
thought word. It must come from your mind and as 
the thoicght ivord is prominent in your mind, and in- 
flexion indicates your like or dislike of the idea, the 
strongest inflexion will be with the thought zvord, 
though all words of a phrase have minor rising or fall- 
ing inflexions. 

VALUE OF POSITIVE TONES. 

Positive tones, firm downward inflexions, give 
power, force, energy and certainty to a speaker's style. 
A rising tone may easily become habitual and where 
it is so, the weightiest truths of the speaker will have 
but little effect. This is a common fault. It makes 
the style trivial and common-place. The speaker 
does not appear to be in earnest and his auditors have 
but little regard for him. If you w'ould move or con- 
vince your auditors, acquire a positive style of speech. 
All things you believe, all things you knozv are true, all 
things your mind approves, give them ivith positive in- 
flexion. Use rising tones only for the tlmigs you disap- 
prove. 

One of the best examples of a falling tone, is the 



T4 



Practice of Speech 



pronouncing of words as if for spelling. A practice 
of the words given under head of Articulation will be 
found most beneficial. 



VOICE MOVEMENT. 



SWELL AND STRESS. 

Our former experiment was as to the length or 
'duration of sound. Produce, as before, the word o/d 
and you will perceive the sound to widen at the mid- 
dle with a moderate swell and then decrease. 

You will ob- 
s erve also 
that you 
press harder 
with the 
chalk at the 
mxiddle of the 
line. Place 
the hand at 
the throat as 
you speak old 
and you will 
observe the 

throat opens after the sound begins and swells to a 
fulness as the sound increases and then decreases as 
the sound diminishes. 

In the Cut, i and 2 show the Middle Swell of voice; 
3, the abrupt open; 4, abrupt close ; 5, the prolonged 
tremor; 6, din even prolongatio7i. 




And Successful Selections. 



J5 




Cut 9. 



Now 2 of the cut will repre- 
sent this swell of sound, which 
is a gradual increase and grad- 
ual diminish of tone. You must 
learn to make the swell gradual, 
full and clear, as it is the basis 
of all finest speech. It gives 
beauty, grandeur and complete- 
ness to vocal expression. 

Give this sw'cU to all accented 
vowels of the following : 

I. Now, o'er the one-half 



world. 



2. And lo, from the assembled crowd, arose a 
shout, prolonged and loud. 

3. So all day long the noise of battle rolled 
among the mountains by the Avintry sea. 

4. In all time. 

Calm or convulsed, in breeze, or gale, or storm, 
Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime, 
Dark-heaving, boundless, endless and sublime. 

The image of eternity, the throne 
Of the Invisible, 

Thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone. 

5. I have lived long enough; my way of life 
Is fall'n into the sere, the yellow leaf; 
And that which should accompany old age, 
As honor, love, obedience, troops of friends, 

I must not look to have ; but. in their stead. 
Curses, not loud, but deep, mouth-honor, breath, 
Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare not. 



76 PraaUce of Speecti. 

6. Now o'er the one-half world 
Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse 
The curtain'd sleep ; now witchcraft celebrates 
Pale Hecate's offerings^ and withered murder, 
Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf, 
Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace, 
With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design 
Moves like a ghost. Thou sure and firm-set earth. 
Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear 
The very stones prate of my whereabout, 
And take the present horror from the time, 
Which now suits with it. Whiles I threat, he lives ; 
Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives. 

Practice, also, examples for Emphasis, and swell 
each emphatic syllable where the vow^el is ope^i. 
Close vowel sounds never have this swell — it belongs 
to the organ tone. 



OROTUND TONE. 



The fully developed voice is the Orottuid. It is pro- 
duced by the firmness of the diaphragm, the openness 
of the throat and the vigorous action of all the 
organs of speech. This is the perfect voice — the 
only voice fit for the orator. But by Orotund, I do 
not mean that stiff, lugubrious mode of speech usu- 
ally designated by this term, but a full, clear, vibrat- 
ing, musical, naturally developea voice. It is the 
voice ; all other '' qualities" or uses of voice are but 
parts J deformities or ahtses of this one natural voice — 
the Orotund. 



And Successful Selectwns. 77 

I do not believe in 'orator puffs" who have so 
many different voices, that they never have one good 
one. Better learn to use o/w well. Imitation of 
voice, sound, &c., is all well enough for character 
sketch and certain lines of humor, but an orator needs 
a voice. Whoever heard a fine orator, as Beecher, 
Simpson, Ingersol. Philips, Tilton — or an actor as 
Booth, McCullough, Sullivan, Forest, Barrett, use 
such qualities of tone as are frequently given as ex- 
amples of *'pure tone," &c. ? 

Develop your voice — that is your Orotund. From 
that, you can make all else. 

The proper sensation when making the best tones for 
speaking, is that of drazving the sound into the thi^oat 
— not of forcing out as is the prevailing theory. The 
proper sensation is as swallowing. Do not try to 
throw^ the voice to a certain point or person; rather 
try to draw it from that point to you. If this seems 
unreasonable, trv it. You wall soon be convinced. 
Neither should the voice be loud in order that it may 
carry. It must be : i. Produced by the action of 
the diaphragm. 2. The throat well open. 3. The 
sound well directed to the front of the mouth, or the 
teeth and lips. 

The best voice for a speaker is one that seems low 
to persons near him, and loud to persons at a dis- 
tance. This is the true tone for the speaker. It can 
be acquired by the use of the above exercise. The 
words must fall evenly from the teeth, or the conso- 
nants will be indistinct. A talking tone is loud 
enough. A speaker should be able to talk to 5,000 
people. 



78 Practice of Speech 



FINAL SWELL. 



The swell or fulness of sound is not always at the 
middle of the element. Try the following. With 
much firmness and determination repeat this sentence: 
Vo?i shall do this, strong emphasis on shall. Also, 
Mother, you have my father much offended. 

Observe: i. The vowel is prolonged. 

2. The sw^ell or fulness is most noticeable at the 
close of the sound. 

Try the same with chalk and you will find the 
pressure the greatest near the close of the sound. 

Likewise, try these : 

1. You must go. 

2. He is an old man. 

Give this last as if trying to impress the fact, or as 
an explanation. This is when we notice this form 
of vocal element, the terminal stress, when trying to 
impress something strongly upon the mind of the 
listener. It is used in anger frequently, as in the 
following : 

1. Must I budge? Must I stand and c7'oueh under 
your testy humor ? By the gods you shall digest the 
venom of your spleen, for from this time forth Fll 
use you for my mirth, yea for my laughter when you 
are waspish. 

2. You blocks, you stones, you ivorse than senseless 
things. 

3. I loathe ye in my bosom, 

I scorn ye w4th mine eye, 
And I'll tatmtyt with my latest hr^3.t\\. 
And fight ye till I die. 



And Successful iSelcctions. 79 

4. If I can catch him once upon the hip, I will feed 
fat the ancient grudge I bear him. He hates our sa- 
cred nation ; and he 7'ails on me, my bargains and my 
well won thrift, which he calls interest ; a^rsed be my 
tribe, if I forgive him. 

5. Ay, cluster there; cling to your master, Judges^ 
Romans, slaves. His charge is false / I dare him to 
his proofs. 

6. O, I'll be patient ! My daughter dragged through 
the streets of Rome ! O, I'll be patient i The essence 
of my best blood condemned as vile! Come! I'll be 
patient ! O, they shall wonder, I'll be so patient ! 

In close vowel sounds, there is a longer hold on 
the initial consonants and then a sudden stroke of the 
vow^el element, as on some of the words above. The 
*' Quarrel Scene "of " Julius Caesar " affords many 
fine examples for this ; also the " Closet Scene " from 
" Hamlet," and Shylock's part in "Merchant of 
Venice." 



ABRUPTNESS OF SPEECH. 



I have said that the Orotund voice is the perfect 
voice; that the middle swell of the vocal element is 
the feature of finest utterance. But when the mind is 
disturbed, or the soul roused with anger, then we 
perceive some changes of voice as well. Anger has 
abruptness of speech as its most certain sign. The 
quick, gruff, sharp tones leave us in no doubt as to 
the feeling of the speaker. Some one may say, 'T 
know a person whose speech is always abrupt and 
yet he is always kind." May be so. Just as you 
mig^ht know a man who had a deformed hand, a 



80 Practice of Speech 



crooked eye, a hair lip, and yet he might be a good 
sort of fellow, even with this defect. But the 
normal sign of anger as shown by the voice is abrupt- 
ness. The soft, smooth tones of love or admiration 
are in strikine contrast. 



ABRUPT OPEN. 



Pronounce abruptly all in the phrase, All shall go I 
Strong emphasis on all. Give the sentence as if 
angry. You will perceive the sound will open sud- 
denly. Also try the word No^ as if giving a sharp, 
indignant answer to some request. The sound will 
open like 3 of Cut. Place the hand at the throat and 
you will perceive this quick opening and gradual 
close of sound. This is noticed in a sudden call or 
alarm, as — Up I Up I and see the great doom's image ! 



EPAMPLES. 



1. Awake, awake ! 

Ring the alarum bell ! Murder and treason ! 

Banquo and Donalbain ! Malcolm ! awake ! 

Shake off this downy sleep, death's counterfeit, 

And look on death itself! up, up and see 

The great doom's image ! Malcolm ! Banquo ! 

As from your graves rise up, and w^alk like sprites, 

To countenance this horror ! Ring the bell. 

2. Do you know me ? 

Back, on your lives ! treacherous cowards ! 
Do you know me ? look on me ; do you know 
This honest sword I brandish ? Back ! back ! I say. 



And Successful Selections. 81 

ABRUPT OPEN AND CLOSH. 



If you speak angrily and determinedly, you will 
perceive; 1st, An abrupt opening of sound. 2d, A 
slight hold after the opening. 3d. An abrupt close of 
the sound. 

This is to be seen, where the niind \s working slowly' 
or held in check, as in consternation and anger, usually 
where several emotions are used, anger or rage being 
one. 

Use the following as if surprised and angry. 

1 . Sick f Sick no7v ! 

2. Hence! Home I You idle creatures, get you 
home! 

3. Villains, you did not so, when your vile daggers 
Hacked one another in the sides of Caesar ; 

You showed your teeth like apes, and fawned like 

hounds, 
And bowed like bondmen, kissing Caesar's feet ; 
Whilst damned Casca, like a cur, behind, 
Struck Caesar on the neck. Oh, }'ou flatterers ! 

4. Silence! obstreperous traitors! 
Your throats offend the quiet of the city ; 

And thou whostandest foremost of these knaves. 
Stand back, and answer me, a senator ; — 
What have vou done ? 



CALLING. SHOUTING. 



Shout '' Holloa f^ on a high key and prolong 0. 
Make the tone full, clear and steadv. So, trv '\AJioy!'' 



82 



Practice of Speech 




'' Boat, aJioy /" also 
" Over r\ *• Over 1 
say r This may be 
prolonged on one 
pitch as in a, or it 
may rise as in b. It 
may also be given 
with slightly descend- 
ing pitch. 



PractiCG with Energy nf Body. 



Stand in strong position, — the feet apart, the lower 
limbs firm, the diaphragm firm, the chest thrown well 
forward and held firmly outward as if to receive a 
blow, the arms firm and hands clenched, the muscles 
of the neck held firmly in position. Then practice 
any or all of the above exercises, with this firmness 
of body, and you will perceive a fulness, clearness, 
and energy of tone far surpassing that of your former 
efforts. Increase this bodily energy to your utmost 
limit. Stand as if supporting a heavy weight. En- 
ergy of Body produces energy of Voice. Thus the 
energy of a gesture may double tl^e vocal power of a 
word. 



THE GUTTERAL RATTLE. 



This use of the \oice is the sharp, angry grozul 
or "rattle," denoting determined rage or frenzy. To 



And Successful Selections. 83 

produce it, all the muscles of the body are held 
firm, and those of the throat, pharynx and especially 
at the base of the tongue, are held rigidly contract- 
ed. When these muscles are held thus hard and 
firm they give to the vocal tone a harsh, rasping- 
rattling, growling quality which joined with the up- 
w^ard tones of emphasis produce a most startling 
effect. It requires great practice and must never be 
given with the muscles relaxed. It is the tone of the 
zi'iV/ when impelled by the zvildesi passions^ anger 
and rage. 

Try the fo/lozuing: 

Wretch ! you could enjoy yourself like a butcher's 
dog in the shambles, while the slaughter of the brave 
is all around vou, but vou shall die, base dog^. 

Blood ! blood ! lago, Blood ! 
I'll tear her all to pieces. 

I tell thee I /late the Moor. 
Blaze with your serried columns. 
But here I stand and seoff you. Here I fling hatred 
and full defianee in your teeth. 

I want you to understand, if I am a gipsy, I 
am not a dog. You have come here and insulted me; 
have called me a thief, a cur, a felon, and now leave 
me or by all that's holy, I'll kill you, — that's what 
I'll do ! ^ 

Hear me, heaven ! The orphan whose sole 
heritage has been disgrace and shame, here sw^ears to 
be avenged ! To follow him as shades pursue the 
night, as swift as eagles, and as sure as death. The. 
mountain shall not hide, the darkness shall not cover 
the distance shall not conceal, the grave itself shall 



Praetice of Speech 



not protect him from my hate ; for from his shroud 
ril drag him reeking forth, tear out his heart, his 
false and traitor heart, and trample, trample, tram- 
ple it to dust. 



MELDDY. 



You will observe that the Pitch varies with the 
phrases. No two consecutive phrases should hai^c the 
same Pitch of Voice. Thus we have the finidamcntal 
pinnciple of 7nodidation. 

If a sentence has three, four, or six phrases, then 
the pitch w^ill be changed three, four or six times, 
according to the number of ideas. If the phrases 
form a series, the pitch will be higher for each suc- 
cessive phrase. In general, the voice ascends until the 
prime plirase is reached, after which it descends. In 
this sentence, ''Heaven is not reached at a single 
bound," the voice will ascend in pitch until the 
word single is reached, when it will descend, thus 
giving the Cadence of voice. 

In the word indis-pen-sable there are three parts : 
1st, A rise of the voice as it approaches the accented 
syllable. 2d, A climax at the accent. 3d, A cadence 
of the \^oice as it proceeds to the end of the word. 
The same thing is true of any phrase of speech except 
where the first or /<^^/ syllable has the accent. Where 
the first syllable has the accent, there will be no rise 
of the voice ; where the last syllable has the accent, 
there can be no such cadence. This is not so much a 
matter of Pitch as of Powder of Voice. The voice 
grows in fulness and intensity until it reaches the Ac- 
cent, when the power and intensit}^ decrease for the 



And SucccssJ ill ^eU'cLi/)n:<. s^ 

ending". The entire phrase may have an upward or 
downward mov^ement of pitch even when the Accent 
is on the last syllable. But the tendency is to the 
highest pitch, as well as the fullest power and inten- 
sity at the Accent. 

Thus a sentence of several phrases may rise, step 
by step, upon succeeding phrases until the principal 
center of thought is reached, and then gradually de- 
scend to the close. 



PRACTICAL EXAMPLES. 

I hold this thing to be grandly true : 
That a noble deed is a step toivard God, 
Lifting the soul from the common sod 

To a purer air and a broader view. 

A. 

Read istline ordinary pitch ; 2d, lower ; 3d, slightly 

above ordinary ; 4th, ordinary or lower. 

B. 

Read 1st line low; 2d, high; 3d, ordinary; 4th, be- 
low ordinary. 

These phrases could be arranged in numberless ways. 
Take another example : 

Those evening bells ! those evening bells ! 
How many a tale their music tells, 
Of youth, and honie^ and that sweet time 
When last I heard their pleasing chime. 
Here we have at least six phrases. Try this mel- 
ody. The numbers apply to the phrases. Read ist, 
low; 2d, higher; 3d low ; 4th, high ;. 5th, higher; 
6th, low. 

Try this sentence as follows, reading first with 
gradual ascent to the close ; then with gradual de- 
scent. The lines will suggest the pitch : 



86 




Practice of Speech 




7. 






world. 


the one- half 


o'er 




Nozv 






2. 


Nozv 










der 








the one-half 








der 


zuorld. 


3- 


Now 


the one-half 




■world. 


i- 


Now 










der 




luorld. 



the one-half 

Thus in any phrase, the words fall in melody and 
are capable of many arrangements. The above phrase 
may be rendered in many different ways from those 
marked. 



IntnninQ BGntGncEs. 



In the following sentences make each word full, 
clear, strong, open and vibratory, and deliver each 
phrase with an evenly rising or falling melodic 
modulation. This steadiness of utterance as it ap- 
proaches the monotone gives grandeur and dignity to 
the voice. 



And SuccessfiU Selections. 87 



1. And thc\' shall know that I am the Lord. 

2. Holy! holy! hol\- ! Lord God Almighty. 

3. Earth to earth ; ashes to ashes, and dust to 
dust ! Man that is born of woman is of few days and 
full of trouble. He cometh forth like a flower and is 
cut down. He fleeeth like a shadow and no man 
pursueth. 

4. Softly now the light of da\\ 
Fades upon ni}* sight away. 

5. ''In silence and at night the conscience feels 
That life should soar to nobler ends than power." 
So sayest thou, sage and sober moralist 1 

But wert thou tried? Ye safe and formal men, 
Who write our deeds and with unfeverished hand 
Weigh in nice scales the motives of the great, 
Ye cannot tell what }'e have never tried. 

6. The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces, 
The solemn temples, the great globe itself, 

Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, 
And, like this unsubstantial pageant, faded, 
Leave not a rack behind. 

7. Night, sable goddess ! from her ebon throne, 
In ray less majesty, now stretches forth 

Her leaden sceptre o'er a slumbering world. 
Silence how dread ! and darkness how profound ! 
Nor eye nor listening ear an object finds. 
Creation sleeps. 'Tis, as the general pulse 
Of life stood still, and nature made a pause. 
An awful pause, prophetic of her end. 



•8 Practice of Speech 



PAUSES. 



The inciDiing determines the Pauses. First. The 
pauses are for the purpose of making the ideas dis- 
tinct. If I have a sentence with/6>^^r ideas^ making 
four thought-phrases, I have four pauses. Try this 
sentence : The good, the great, the noble and the 
brave, all slumber here. 

Here we ha\'e five ideas, and five words emphatic, 
five strong inflections and five Pauses. These Pauses 
give the auditors time to associate new ideas with the 
preceding ones. Then, the more similar the ideas, 
the shorter the pauses. 

Again the uici^e important the rneaimigjhe longer the 
pauses. 

There is always a pause between ideas. 

Second. Any change of words from their natural 
order, demands a pause. This gives the auditors 
time to arrange the words in proper order. Try this 
sentence : 

Ay, call it holy ground, 

The spot where first they trod. 

Here we have a pause after ''ground^' but if the 
sentence were read: Ay, call the spot where first 
they trod holy ground, — then this pause is not needed. 
A number of like examples may be found in sentences 
under Emphasis. 

Third. Pauses are needed for any omissions of 
words or ideas. This gives the auditors time to sup- 
ply such words or ideas. In this sentence : 

His hair is crisp and black and long, 
His face is like the tan. 



A7id Successful Selectioiis. 89 



If you omit the conjunctions of the first line, you 
must give still longer pauses than are required as the 
line is written. In the second line, there is a pause 
after "'faccy b. word is omitted. The full sentence is : 
His face is droz^'/i, like the tan. 

Foiirtli. There are pauses for ernotioii. These know 
no rule, no limit. Impulse and emotion do not stop 
for reason. In quick, sudden anger, the ideas maybe 
fairly heaped one upon the other, phrase following 
phrase . without pause or break. While in sorrow, 
grief, surprise, wonder^ &c. there may be d. pause after 
each ivord. But as a principle, it will be observed, the 
greater the emotion the more frequent and longer the 
pauses. Try this sentence : "The miserable highland 
drover — bankrupt, barefoot, stripped of all, hunted 
down, because the avarice of others grasped at more 
than his poor all could pay, — shall burst upon them 
with an awful change." Here the pauses are quick, 
sharp, frequent. Try this, also : 'Tt may not be much 
to you, my friend, it may not be much to you, 
but all the joy of my life lies here in this rough 
pine box. I loved her, and she was the only one on 
earth who loved me." 

Here the pauses are frequent and long. A pause 
may be after almost every word. 

FIGURES OF SPEECH. 

A simile or jnetaphor is a picture and when we in- 
troduce it into a sentence it demands a pause both 
before and after its utterance. One word is the basis 
of the picture and that word is ahvays emphatic. 
This word is sometimes omitted and then a pause de- 
notes both the omission and the emphasis. As in the 
followine : 



90 Practice of Speech 



Such songs have power to quiet 

The restless pulse of care, 
And come, like the benediction 

That follows after prayer. 

Here after ''coine^ a word is omitted; the word is 
an adverb, such as '"softly" or ''soothingly." There 
should be long pause after ''come." So in the fol- 
lowing : 

1. Read from some humble poet 

Whose songs gushed from the heart. 
As shozvers from the clouds of siumncr, 
Or tears from tlie eyelids start. 

2. And the night shall be filled with music, 

And the cares that infest the day, 
Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, 
And as silently steal away. 

3. The Assyrian came down like a luolf on the fold, 
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold, 
And the sheen of his spears was like stars on the 

sea 
When the blue zvaves roll nightly on deep Galilee. 

The simile must be read as one idea. In the last, 
for instance, there must be no pause after ''sea!' Join 
the w^ords of the simile closely, making a pause before 
and after it, but none in the middle of the simile. 

4. Like the leaves of the forest zuhen sitmmer is green, 
That host wath their banners at sunset were seen ; 
Like the leaves of the forest zuhen antitmn hath blozini. 
That host on the morrow lay withered and strow^n. 



And Successful Selections, 01 

MDVEMENT. 



GESTURE-GVMXASTIC EXERCISES. 

Movement is not Gesture, but Gesture includes 
Movement. The object of these exercises is not so 
much the acquisition of muscular power, as to gain 
freedom and elasticit}' of action. They rid the pupil 
of the restraints of habit and timidity, inspire him 
with confidence and render his body capable of Ges- 
ture-action. 

VALUE OF PRACTICE. 

Do not take for granted that you will do these 
things as soon as you understand and approve them. 
They all demand practice. Even the most natural 
movement may be most difficult for you because of 
habits of movement. To test this, you only need try 
a single lesson in fencing, dancing, military drill, and 
you will find that after each movement has been most 
fully explained to you, that you must try it many 
times before you can execute it correctly, and then 
many times more before you do it as if it were a 
"natural" action for you. And yet in all these exercises, 
the movements are such as years of experience have 
proven to be best suited for the complete and fullest 
action of the body. And the best use of the body is 
the natural use you wish to acquire. 

Therefore, we practice movements of the body as a 
drill for Voice and Gesture. For, it will be generally 
observed that speakers who have good action, make 
by far the best use of their voices and those who have 
poor action, though they may have tolerable voices, 
seldom use them well. And should anyone wish to 



'^2 Practice of Speech 



discard Gesture, it should at least be for a better 
reason than that he is ignorant of its use and power. 
Persons are apt to mistake the term Gesture. If an 
orator delivers his sentences without use of hand or 
arm, they are ready to exclaim, *'He never used a 
gesture !," when perhaps every sentence was given 
with excellent Gesture. Gesture is bodily action re- 
sponding to the impulses of the mind and soul. It 
may have been the contraction or relaxation of mus- 
cles of foot, or limb, or waist, or neck, or of all 
these, making the sum of all members of the body 
for expression. May not the cheek flush or grow 
pale, the body relax or be firm, and the hands be 
at the sides? And is not this Gesture? We should 
develop and train the body that it may not hinder our 
work of expression, but give full play to all members 
when impulse calls. 

For convenience we make three divisions. 

1. BELOW THE WAIST. 

2. ABOVE THE WAIST. 

3. MOVEMENT OF ENTIRE BODY. 

I am convinced that the movements below^ the 
waist, though least noticeable to the audience, are of 
most importance. Any awkward or constrained move- 
ment or position of the feet or lower limbs will be 
plainly indicated by a counter movement and position 
of the head, shoulders, or trunk. All these upper 
parts of the body take position corresponding to the 
movements and position of the lower limbs and feet. 
Therefore, that the head and trunk may move in har- 
mony w^ith movements of the feet, we first give exer- 
cises to impart freedom and elasticity to the muscles 
of the neck and waist. 



And tSuccessful Selections. 



93 



HEAD Movement, 



These exercises develop and train muscles of the 
neck and face. Few persons can turn the head easily 
to the side, or throw it well backward or forward. 
This will be found difficult as a simple gymnastic 
exercise, and as long as this is the case, the movement 
will not likely be used in gesture. You must /;7r these 
muscles ; then they will respond to gesture impulses. 
M?/sc/cs of Xcck. 

I. "Stand as in Cut 32, but with 
arms folded as in Cut 21. Keep 
the head well erect, and with a 
firm count of ''ouc^^ ''tivo^ turn 
the head to the rigJit until you 
face over the right shoulder; 
then to the left in like manner. 
Repeat eight or ten times, and 
practice with energy. 

Do not practice any of these 
exercises long at first. But while 
you do practice, practice vigor- 
ously. Let all movements be 
given with the neatness and pre- 
cision of military drill. 
2. Stand as in Cut ^2, arms 

iolded. 
a. Drop the head well forward 

as far as possible, then raise it 

and throw it well back as at 4 

in Cut 22. Do this with energy 



UU'J' z\. 



and count as in Ex. 1. 

b. Hold head well erect. Move 
it well to the light, allowing it to 




94 



Practice of Speech 



^^M 




drop as near the shoulder 
as possible ; then in like 
manner to the /eft. Repeat 
ten times with counts 

c. Drop the head forward 



]^ and allow it to 7^0// to the 



left in direction of arrow B, 
and so pass to points 2, 4, 
3, and complete the circle 
at I. Repeat several times 
and then practice from left 
to right. 



CUT 



FORWARD OR BACKWARD. 

Keep head well erect, so that 
the chin and forehead are on a 
perpendicular line as in Cut 
20, and the line /; is directly 
above the center of the head. 
Now, keeping the line of the 
face perpendicular, move the 
head forward firmly until line a 
is directly above the center; 
then, draw the head firmly 
back until c is above the center 
The outline of the cut w^ill as- 
sist the directions. Make these movements firmly 
and keep the chin and forehead in perpendicular line. 
Count ''one" and ''two" to the Ex. 




And Successful Selections. 



95 



BODY MOVEMENT. 

TURNING. 
Stand with feet as in Cut 23, the 
line 5 should pass directly between 
the feet. Keep the arms folded. 
Keeping the feet firmly in position, 
turn the body to the n^/^/ until the 
left side is toward line 5, and allow 
the head to turn still farther to the 
right and bring the back of the head 
toward 5. Then reverse this move- 
ment to the left until the right side of 
the body and the back of the head 
are toward line 5. Repeat several 
times vigoroush'. It will require 
^€ ^ "^ some practice before }'Ou can execute 

this well. It is valuable as it trains a large number 
of muscles and renders man}' movements easy that 
otherwise would be verv difficult. 





m 



w 



i¥C^ 



EXTENSION. 

Stand with feet as in Cut 23, hands as in 
lower figure of Cut 24. Raise the body 
upon the tips of the toes and allow the 
heels to turn inward until they touch and 
at the same time raise the shoulders as far 
as possible and then extend the arms up- 
ward, opening the hands and extending 
each finger to its fullest limit. After you 
have reached the utmost height, hold the 
body in position some seconds, then slozuly 
come to former position and allow all mus- 
cles of the body to fully relax. Repeat 
several times. 



96 



Practice of Speech 




CUT 31. 




SWAYING. 

Stand as in Cut 32. 
Keep the heels firmly together 
on floor, hands at waist. Now, 
keeping the feet firm, and not 
allowing eithei^ knee to bend, move 
the waist firmly to the right to- 
ward arrow i. In doing this, the 
shoulders will move in opposite 
direction as in Cut 31, and the 
head will incline to the right. 
But you need not try to move 
the shoulders or the head. Make 
a strong effort to move the waist 
to the right and the shoulders 
and head will take the proper 
position unless you unduly re- 
strain them. Now, move the 
waist to the left, and the should- 
ers will move to the right and 
the head to the left Be sure 
you do not bend a knee. Prac- 
tice patiently as this is one of 
the most useful of all the exer- 
cises. It is not only an exercise 
for general bodily movement, 
but it will add power and vigor 
to the Voice. It is of more 
value for the voice than any one 
vocal exercise I have ever 
found, since it trains the dia- 
phragm and gives the fullest 
and most vigorous action to all 
the waist muscles. 



And Successful Selections. 



97 



MOVEMENT BELOW THE WAIST. 




iS'.— Fur niunbcrs ol' Cuts, see i)lHtes at opeDiiig- of Book. 

Exercises for Feet, Ankles, Lower Limbs, Knees, 
Thighs and Full Limb. 

Stand as in Cut 3. Then, allow- 
ing the w^eight of the body to rest 
upon the left foot entirely, extend 
the right foot to the right until the 
ankle is fully extended and the toes 
of the foot touch the floor. 

To change the weight of bod}' to 
the right foot, move the w^aist to 
the right and allow the shoulders to 
go to the left as in last Ex. With 
the left foot at of Cut, extend 
the right foot as far as possible in 
direction of lines 6, 7, i , 5, and after 
each extension bring 
it again to former posi- 
tion. 

The line passing 
through the one foot 
should intersect the 
other foot at or near 
the instep. Thus in 
the Cut, the left foot at Oy the right foot is in easy and 
neat position when on line 6 or 7, but awkw^ard on line i . 
While if the right foot is moved to position in Cut on 
5, then the left foot is on line to the instep of the right 
and the position is again easy. 

This will be made plain in Cut 25. Here the weight 
is on the left foot, and the lines from the points in the 
square and circle all meet at 9, or at the instep of the 
left foot. Now, to extend the foot toward 2 or 3, 



-^^^ 



;7:^v« 







98 



Practice of Speech 



turn the toe directly toward the point and then extend 
the Hmb as far as possible. Do not move the foot 



sidelong. 

Stand as in Cut. 
With the right foot, 
describe this figure 8, 
making the compound 
curve with a free and 
easy sweep. Keep the 
body well balanced 
and the ankle and 
knee well extended, 
the toe following the 
line. 

Change w^eight to 
right foot, and placing 
it at I, follow the 
figure with left foot. 

Stand as in Cut 
3. Extend the right 
limb fully. Now, 
have the foot de- 
scribe the circular 
line, but do not al- 
low the knee or an- 
kle to bend or relax. 
Practice about twen- 
ty times. Then place 
the right foot on 
floor and describe 
similar movements 
with the left foot. 

Then practice reverse movement. 

Practice this at first with arms extended, then with 

the arms folded or close to the body. 




Aiid Successful Selections. 



90 




Stand at angle 3 
in Cut. Extend 
right foot about 10 
inches to the right 
as in Cut. Keep- 
ing the knee firm, 
the ankle firm and 
extended, make a 
sweeping curve to 
the left and then re- 
turn. Practice this 
several times. Now, 
a similar movement 
from left to right 
with the left foot. Follow as nearly as possible a line 
such as is laid down. 

Now, begin with the movement from right to left 
and alternate it with the opposite movement. Make 
them with counts as i and 2, and 3 and 4, &c. 

Stand on line 2 3, right 
foot at 2. Move the right 
foot, — knee and ankle 
fully extended — in fron^ 
of the left foot to 3. 
Then return and follow 
the circle to 3. Do not 
bend the ankle ; keep 
the knee as firm as pos- 
sible. Repeat ten times. 
Place the weight upon 
the right foot and make 
^C''" similar movement with 
left limb. This will train 
the muscles of the thigh, and knee and ankle— and 
also teach you to balance the body properly. Alter- 
nate as in preceding Ex. 




100 



Practice of Speech 



^V. Make the line as long as possible by extend- 
ing the foot as far as you can. 

KNEELING. 



1. Step forward with the 
right foot a double step 
and allow the left knee 
to touch the floor lio^htlv. 
Keep the shoulders well 
erect and you can easily 
rise to your former posi- 
tion. Try this in different 
directions. 

2. Put weight on the 
right foot. Then as in Cut, allow the left foot to glide 
backward on the line and the body to sink until the 
left knee is on the floor. Turn the heel slightly in- 
ward. Practice several times. Also try 
with backward movement. 




right foot 



In kneeling, the knee nearest the audience should 
usually be on the floor. This brings the face of the 
person toward the audience. 

In kneeling, the body should sink w^ith even, grace- 
ful movement to its position, and w^hen rising the 
shoulders should be well poised backward, thus pre- 
venting any strain of the muscles. The entire action 
of kneeling should require no more special effort, 
than the single movement of arm or limb. 

If the arms are used, unless thev are folded or 
brought to the body, they should be used as in Cut, 
the right arm advanced. 



And Successful Selections. 



101 



ARM MOVEMENTS. 

FULL ARM STROKE. 



\ 



7 



.^^^i, 




A. Imagine three 
circles as in Cut. 
Then, from the 
shoulders with arm 
as in Cut, make a 
series of 9 down- 
ward full strokes of 
the arm, allowing the 
elbow to straighten 



fully, 



the hand to 
open well and the 
entire arm to be 
firmly extended. 
Count for the strokes 
and make the first 
of the series across 
the body in front, the next in front, and continue as indi- 
cated by circle and lines, ending with backward stroke. 
Make each stroke firmly and raise the elbow and drop 
the hand in preparation for each stroke, as in the Cut. 
B. Make a like series of strokes to the horizontal 
Count for each stroke. 
A like series for upper circle. 
A like practice with left arm. 
The same exercise with both arms. 
Note. — Be careful to raise the arm well in prepara- 
tion for each stroke. 

This full stroke of the arm is of most frequent use 
in gesture. It accompanies the Accent. Thus, if you 
will repeat a phrase with this arm stroke at the accent, 
you will find the stroke of the accent will be greatly 
increased. The same thing is true of other gymnas- 
tic exercises s^iven here. 



circle. 
C. 
D. 
E. 



102 



Practice of Speech 






\V^, 




RAISING THE ARM. 

^ Keep the elbow firm but alloA^ 

the wrist to be bent as in Cut. 
When raising the arm, the move- 
ment begins at the shoulder, and 
the hand follows the arm. So in 
descending, the hand is curved up> 
ward as in Cut. Practice often. 
Use left hand in like manner. 

TO TURN THE HAND. 

Raise the arm with hand follow- 
ing, as before. When at proper 
height, tur7i the ann, but do not 
allow the hand to rise above the 
wrist. Turn the hand by a move- 
ment of the entire arm. Try with 
both hands. 



EULL ARM MOVEMENT— CIRCLE. 




// 



/^/ 



Without bending elbow, 
raise the arm as in Cut, 
and carry it backward as 
shown by arm in Cut, 
thus completing the circle 
at side of body. Practice 
with vigor. 

Practice like circle with 
left arm. 

Practice with both arms. 

Practice again in reverse 
order, starting the hand 
backward from the side. 



And Successful Selections. 



103 



COMBINED CIRCLE. 



I. Move the full 
arm to the left, 
and as you raise 
it, allow the wrist ,4 
to bend that the / / 
hand may follow.;* 
the forearm, and \ 
the elbow to- \ 
bend slighth% 
while the move- 
ment proceeds 
mainly from the 
shoulders. This 



\\ 



will give 



exer- 




cise and training 



to the entire arm. 

2. Practice same with movement to the right. 

3. Practice same exercise with left arm. 

4. Practice with both arms at same time. 

Allow the hands to foIloTU the arms in all these 
exercises. 

This full sweep of the entire arm gives powder and 
dignity to gesture. If I speak of trivial things, I 
make gesture with my fingers ; if more important, I 
may use my entire hand, or the forearm, but, if of 
great importance, the full arm movement would be 
used. The greater the impulse, the stronger and fuller 
the action of gesture. Try any sentence of strong 
assertion with this full sweep of the arm and you will 
perceive its fitness for powerful gesture. The hand 
may rise w^ith a sweep to right or left, forward or back, 
or may descend right or left from above the head. 
Similar movements mav be made on smaller circles, 
if ideas be less important. 



104 



Practice of Speech 



COMPOUND CURVES. 




A compound curve is the line 
of beauty. Two such curves 
will form a figure such as we 
have in Cut. Practice this 
figure with full arm, having the 
hand follow the arm. The arrow 
heads will guide you as to direc- 
tion. 

Practice in reverse order, mov- 
ing the hand opposite the arrow 
points of last Ex. 

You will observe that this 
figure is a combination of the 
circles of the former Ex. The 
circle made by moving the hand 
inward from below may well be 
called a "'positive circled It brings the hand upward 
with palm toward the face of the speaker. 

The circle formed by moving the hand outward, 
brings the back of the hand toward the face of the 
speaker and is the " negative circled This last figure 
and exercise combines both circles. Therefore.it is a 
most useful practice. It trains all possible movements 
of the arm, and the hand may stop at any point ot 
this entire figure and the movement will be graceful 
and beautiful. The gesture is always pleasing when 
made wdth this movement. 

The compound curve is the line of beauty. It is 
the line of nature. When the arm rises in gesture 
action, this line should be used where the ideas are 
pleasing or beautiful. Straight lines are used only 
for violent emotions, unpleasant ideas. All the 
movements of the body should combine and accord 
with the voice to express our thoughts and emotions. 



And Successf}(J Scle^^ti/jns. 



105 




Use both arms on 
curve lines as in Cut. 
At any number of 
convenient points, as in 
I, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 
allow the hands to 
turn slightly and the 
arms to hold firm in 
their position for an 
instant, and you will 
|\^ observe then at any 
point in these lines 
the gesture movement 
is graceful. Practice 
carefully and observ- 
incrlv. 



HORIZONTAL MOVEMENT OF ARM 




Extend the right arm 
fully to the right from the 
body. Then, move it with 
full sweep to the left shoulder 
and return it to its former 
position, forming an ellipse 
as in Cut. ^vlake the 
movement firm and sweep- 
ing, and be sure the /la^id 
/o//ozl's the wrist in each 
movement. Practice to make 
this stroke firm and full. 
Practice like movement with 
left arm. 



106 



Praetice of Speech 



ARM MOVEMENT. COMPOUND CURVE. 




Observing directions for 
hand and wrist in preced- 
ing examples, practice the 
compound curve of the 
figure in Cut Make the 
movement easy and sweep- 
ing. 

Practice in like manner 
with left arm. 

This sweep of the arm 
may also be made as low as 
from the waist, or even 
above the head. 



POINTING. 



The hand must 
rise to the line of 
sight. Thus, to in- 
dicate any of the 
points in the Cut , 
the hand comes to 
the line from the 
eye to the point. 
The entire hand 
points, the wrist 
and forefinger are 
on level, as in Cut. 
The eye first 
sees the object, 
then, if it is of enough importance, the hand indicates 
it. The hand may point to a zuell knozvn object with- 
out the eye seeing it. 




And Successful Selections, 



107 



ARM AND FOOT MOVEMENT. 




Stand with left foot 
at I, heel of right foot 
at instep of left. Step ■ 
to right about 20 
inches as in Cut, 
bending right knee, 
but keeping left knee 
straight. Come to ist 
position again. Step 
farther this time, to 3^ 
Recover again. Thus 

practice, until with a '*"*"-— .::.'. ---^. 

long step with right foot, you can place the left knee 
on the floor. Try in like manner, turning the body 
and stepping in other directions, as indicated by the 
lines of Cut. Use hands with step, the right arm 
in same direction as right foot. Practice in like man- 
ner to the left. 



HAND MOVEMENT. 

A. Extend 
the arm as in 
Cut. Keep- 
ing the elbow 
firm, raise the 
hand from the 
'- ~" wrist, keeping 

the fingers all in position, until it forms a sharp angle 
at the wrist. Then allow the hand to fall and point to 
the floor, w^ithout changing position of arm. Repeat 
often. 




108 



Practice of Speech 




B. Extend the arm ; hand, 
palm downward. Keep the 
arm firm and move the entire 
hand to right and then to 
left, as in Cut. Keep fingers 
still, and have the movement 
all proceed fi'om the wrist. 
Practice with left hand. 

Practice like movement 
with hand in position for 
pointing. Do not hold mus- 
cles rimdly firm. 




B. Extend the arm ver}' fully and hold the hand 
firmly clenched as in Cut. Now, keeping the arm 
firm, throw the fingers violently open, so as to com- 
pletely spread the palm of the hand, and fully extend 
all the fingers and the thumb, as in Cut. Then 
close them again firmly and repeat the exercise ten 
times. Practice all exercises vigorously. 



> 



C. Wrist Circle. Extend 
the arm fully and with hand 
in position for pointing, as 
in Cut, describe a circle 
from the wrist. Make the 
circle as perfect as possible, 
and be sure that all move- 
ments proceed from the 
Practice left to right, then right to left. 




And Successful Selections. 



100 



Wrist MnvEmGnt. 





VERTICAL. 

Allow the arm to rise from the side 
slowly and as it ascends make a series 
of vertical movements with the wrist 
until the arm is raised to its full limit, 
when you will complete the move- 
ment by one full stroke of the wrist. 
The Cut will suggest the movement. 
These last hand exercises will give 
great freedom and force of action to 
the wrist. 

Each arm gesture is not complete 
until the wrist stroke is given. This 
movement is the last part of the ges- 
ture action. 



Elboic Circles, i. With arm down- 
ward, describe a circle from the el- 
bow, keeping the hand in position 
of last Ex., allowing the hand to 
follow the wrist. Thus, when the 
Avrist ascends, the hand will be below* 
the wrist, when the wrist descends, 
the hand will be above. 

2. Raise the arm to a horizontal 
position and make a circle in like 
manner. 

3. Raise the arm directly upward 
and describe a third circle. Be care- 
ful the circle is from the elbow; do 
not n7ove the arm at the shoulder.. 
Practice like manner left arm. 



110 



Practice of Speech 



COMBINED ARM MOVEMENT. 




Allow the arm to start from the 
side and make a series of movements 
to left and right, the hand following the 
arm, and gradually ascend until the 
hand reaches its highest point above 
the head. Let it end the movement 
with a vigorous stroke of the elbow 
and wrist. The Cut will explain the move- 
ment. Practice with left arm. 

This movement of hand and arm is 
called into use when the meaning is held 
until near the close of the sentence, 
or in rising to a climax. 



HANDS TOGETHER. 




The hands, from their lowest point 
) of clasping to their highest at the 
neck, form a scale of intensity — 
the higher they clasp, the more ex- 
citement of feeling they express. The 
hands together, denote sympathy and 
affection ; when apart, they show dzs- 
agre eminent or opposition of feeling. 
When clasped, the palms should be 
pressed together ; to clasp only the 
fingers would evince lack of emotion. 



And Successful Selections, 



111 



LONG LINES OF GESTURE. 



The longer* the Hnes of Ges- 
ture, the more striking and more 
powerful the effect of the move- 
ment. Thus, in the Cut, the line 
from I to 2 crives strencrth and 
power to the gesture and seem- 
ngly adds to the height of the 
speaker. So, also, if the right 
arm be raised and the line be 
formed from 3 to 4. Also, lines 
formed with weight on forward 
foot and the arm raised as in Cut 
I, show the longest lines of 
movement and are most strik- 
ing. The power of a gesture 
/\ w^ -^^^ depends partly upon the posi- 
tion of body and limbs^ partly upon the lines of 
movement, and also upon the contraction and relaxa- 
tion of muscles. 




MOVEMENT OF EYES. 

The muscles of the Eve are capable of wonderful 
development. Its movements, like those of other 
parts of the body, are limited in number, but of many 
degrees. 

1. Stand with face to front. Turn both eyes firmly 
to right as if looking at some object. Do not turn 
the head. Turn them to the left in like manner. 
Practice with counts, but allow them to keep position 
for some seconds each time. 

2. Keeping the face still, raise the eyes as if to see 
some object above the head. Lower them as if to see 
the floor. Practice each movement several times. 
The following cuts will assist. 



ll:i 



Pra<^ttice of Speech. 




'^m^ i^^m 




3. Open the eyes to their widest extent and hold 
them so for some seconds. Then close them firmly 
and hold them so for an instant before repeating the 
exercise. These exercises will strengthen the eyes, 
as well as render them more expressive. 

4. Close the eyes until almost shut, as if thinking, 
and hold them in this position. 



^ ^ 






And Successful Selections. 113 

5. With eyes well open and fixed upon some point 
at a distance, suppose that point to move toward you 
and come closer and closer until it touches the fore- 
head. As you do this, the eyes w^ill turn imvard 
slightly. The same movement will be seen when the 
mind is closely concentrated in thought. Reverse 
the above action and the eyes will separate and if you 
take in a wide scope of view they will turn slightly 
outward. This is seen in certain wild, strong passions. 
The cuts will show the movement of eyes. 



.' ,1 



^...,.. 




MOVEMENT OF EYEBROWS AND FORE- 
HEAD. 



Raise the brows and the forehead will show a 
number of long furrows as in Cut. It is important 
to have the fullest movement of all muscles of the 
brows. They show each impulse most distinctly. They 
become flexible wath even a small amount of practice. 
After raising the brow, hold the position some seconds. 
Then firmly draw the brows downward and together 
as in Cuts. Practice firmly and hold the muscles 
firm after each movement. The Cuts will show the 
action of the muscles. 



114 



Practice of Speech 






THE LIPB. 



1. Close the lips firmly and hold them in this posi- 
tion some seconds. Then speak firmly a sentence, 
as : ''T/its shall be so^' and after each word close them 
again very firmly. 

2. Round them well as in tone exercise. Holding 
them firmly, repeat in surprise or wonder a sentence, 
as : ''0 No^ No, No ! Why^ zvho could have done this /" 
Keep lips firmly rounded. 

3. The lips do not always close evenly. The lower 
jaw frequently moves slightly to right or left. This 
is usually the case in the meaner passions, as hate, 
rage, fury, envy, scorn, spite. 

Also, in opening the lips, they do not part evenly 
in such emotions. The first part of the work is to 
train the muscles, the peculiarities of movement will 
follow. They are a part of nature and will come if 
you only give nature freedom, 

THE NOSTRILS. 



In anger, or strong excitement, or sickness, the 
movements of the nostrils are most striking. They 
depend for, action mainly upon the breathing, how- 
ever. For practice, use examples for '^Gutteral 
Rattle." 



And Successful Selectimis. 115 



GDDD READING. 



Reading is an Art — it demands practice. Two 
things make up the work of the reader, ist. To 
translate the thought from the page and take it to 
his own mind. 2nd. To express it again to his audi- 
tors. 

First. The reader must learn to see ideas — to take 
the thought to his mind, not the words. With one 
swift glance, his mind must grasp the idea. He must 
take up at one glance so much of the discourse as 
forms at least one idea. A little practice will make it 
as easy to see a line as a syllable. It is not necessary 
to keep the glance fixed upon the page more than a 
small proportion of the time, even though the mat- 
ter be new. Observe this — You can always pause 
between ideas, and there is always time to take the 
second idea if you look up from the page while ex- 
pressing the first. 

You will find that a single glance will enable you 
to take from the page a line or even two lines, and 
practice will train your eye and mind to take a 
stanza at one quick glance. But you must practice 
this well. It can be gotten no other way. 

If you read with eyes fixed on the page, it will 
sound as if ^'reading to yourself/' and keeping the 
mind directed to the page, you will not be able to ex- 
press emotion or to hold the audience. It may be said 
that certain noted men have delivered sermons, lec- 
tures, dramatic parts without once looking up. May 
be so. When you are noted, you may do so too. Their 
faculties have all been trained in various ways and 
this style of delivery is not a habit with them as 
you are in danger of making it with yourself 



116 Practice of Speech 



THE MAN WITHIN. 



Your body is but a covering, a mask, a shelly 
within which, back of what we see, dwells the living, 
sentient, thinking, active, God's image — that looks 
and listens, thinks and feels, — to which we speak, and 
with which we sympathize. Your flesh is but a cloak 
of something better, greater. 

This body is but an earth-woven suit of armor in 
which the divine life, the soul, the real man, battles 
with things earthly. 

A man is imprisoned here within a temple. He- 
has thoughts that burn for expression, emotions and 
longings he desires to communicate to the outer world. 

He looks out at the windows — he listens at the 
loop-holes for every sound ; he forms systemized, ar- 
ticulate sounds, he strives by motion, by attitude, 
and by all we call gesture to show forth his thoughts 
and feelings. He struggles for freedom, but he is des- 
tined to keep within his prison. More than that, he 
must carry it about with him. When he thinks of 
the east, and would face the coming of the sun, he 
turns his prison about until it fronts the god of day. 
Would he go on some mission ; he takes up his abode 
and walks off' with it, comes to his destination, sets 
down his dwelling, and by movements or attitudes of 
it, holds discourse. He protects that dwelling of his, 
too. If unexpectedly he encounters danger, if some 
other body is moving on a straight line toward his 
house, he moves off' to the right. Should he come 
near a precipice, he stops short. In fact, it takes up 
much of his time to attend his house. Should any- 
body offer insult, he raises it aloft, high as possible, 
and shows resentment ; before nobler souls, he bows 



A.1UI Successful Selections. 117 



it low and even prostrates it in the dust in recogni- 
tion of greatness. 

Now, this body is a piece of intricate mechanism, 
a \'eritable machine, built upon a frame work of 
mathematical precision, moved and operated with 
levers, cords and tendons, all of which are directed 
by the "man himself" It is therefore most essential 
to obtain the freeest possible action of all parts of 
this machinery ; to give the best and fullest action 
to all levers and cords, that they may move at the 
slightest impulse of the ''man!' For this reason, all 
exercises of gymnastic sort that will give pliancy 
and elacticity to muscles, develop harmoniously all 
parts of the machine, and make every part most 
subservient to the will, are of great value. 

LIMIT OF MOVEMENTS. 



How many movements can be made with one 
member of the body, as with hand, arm, head, or 
trunk? *'An infinite number!" you say. Perhaps 
so, but these are not of infinite classes. From one 
spot upon the earth we may have an infinite number 
of directing lines to distant points, as to the points in 
the circumference of a circle, but we call all these 
as North, East, South, and West, with their inter- 
mediates. So with movements of body, or parts of 
the body. 

The head may be erect, or drop forward or be 
thrown back. When erect, it may move to right or 
left. When forward, it may also move to right or 
left, and also when thrown backward. 

Thus it has eight distinct movements and one cen- 
tral position. 

So the Hand may be extended as in Cut 35, and 
have thus three movements. Now the hand may be 



U8 Practice of Speech 



elevated from the wrist as in Cut 37, and have three 
movements here. It may fall below the wrist and 
have its three movements then. Finally, it may form 
a circle as in Cut 69 and thus take in all points by one 
movement. So all the movements of the Arm, Cut 
36, are horizontal, descending and ascending. And 
each one of these divisions has its central position 
and right and left. Then, these are all combined in 
the circle, and also in the figure 8 of Cut 39. 

The movements of the lower Limbs may be seen in 
Cut 26. The left foot is at the center of the circle and 
the right foot may move to any of the points marked 
on the circumference of the circle. Here we have 
nine positions and eight movements as before. 

So the Trunk may be erect, and incline to right and 
left ; may bend forward and then incline to right and 
left; may be thrown backward and again move to 
right and left. 

The Eyes have like movements, as may be seen from 
cuts given in former pages. These movements may 
all be given with different degrees of energy and ex- 
tent. But the design of our exercises is to render 
all parts of the body capable of these different move- 
ments. You will probably have some diflficulty in 
executing some of the movements simply as gym- 
nastic exercises, and this will make apparent the ab- 
surdity of expecting proper gesture action without 
careful physical drill and practice. Train and develop 
the body for its best and fullest action, and then only 
can you expect all parts to respond to mental and 
emotional impulses. 



Alul Successful Selections. 1 1 9 



SutijGctiYE and DtijEctlVE Actinn. 



There are two mental and emotional states or acts 
to which I direct your attention. 

;. When you are fully interested in something 
FROM you, as listening, looking for some object, or 
with your senses intent upon some external object, 
so as to call your mind outzuard. This we term Ob- 
jective. This state or act of the mind opens the 
eyes wide, gives the ready ear, parts the lips, takes 
the hands outward from you, and expands, impels 
the whole body outward as if each part of it were in- 
terested in the object. 

2. Suppose you think — think hard, and you will 
observe the head will drop, the eyes will close, you do 
not listen, may not hear your own name if called ; 
the hands remain close to the body or are folded 
upon the breast, or go to the head ; the body itself re- 
poses upon one foot, and there is a lack of physical 
energy. Your attention is within — not outward. So 
in severe grief, all the body relaxes. You do not 
wish to talk, to see, to hear, to use your hands, to 
manifest physical energy. This is Subjective, when 
the mind is occupied with yourself 

If I ask you to point out for me some person, street, 
object, your movement is Objective ; if I ask you to 
perform some mental operation and you are obliged 
to think intently and take your hand tow^ard the 
head, the movement is Subjective. So, if I wish to 
describe for the audience a landscape, river, moun- 
tain, battle, person, building, all movements should 
be from me. I wish my audience to forget me — to 
see only the object ; but if I tell a pathetic story and 



120 Practice of Speech 



personate some one who is in grief, my movements 
must be toward me, mainly ; I wish the audience to 
think of the sufferer, of myself, since I am taking his 
place. Then in this my hands may clasp, may come 
frequently to the body^ to the head, the eye, the 
breast, may wring with sorrow, &c. 

Here is a difference between the action of the 
orator and that of the actor. The former has main- 
ly objective work. The latter subjective, The one 
directs attention to facts, to scenes, incidents^ and 
says, ''See these things." The other impersonates emo- 
tion and passion and says : " See me, I suffer these 
things." One describes, the other enacts. And yet 
the orator will frequently use much of the actor's art ; 
and the actor will often use objective action. In the 
play of Julius Caesar, Brutus is the orator. His 
speech is oratorical, objective. Antony is subjective; 
he weeps and his grief is more powerful than the 
strong statements of Brutus. 

ILLUSTRATION. 

You meet a triend upon the street ; he greets you 
with hearty salutation ; his voice is clear and ringing; 
his hand is outstretched to grasp yours ; his step is 
quick and elastic ; he sees and hears all about him ; 
if he stops to talk with you his weight is on the for- 
ward foot, and every part of his body is active and 
energetic. All the tones of his voice are brisk and 
lively as himself. He talks to you ; he has many 
plans. What he did yesterday, last week ; shall do 
to-day, next year : what other people are doing. 

77^/^ /^OBJECTIVE. 

Now, suppose your friend goes to his office and 
shortly receives tidings of some accident at his home, 
— some one is hurt or dead. He goes home. You 



And S^iccessful Selections. 121 

call to offer sympathy. He meets you, a different man 
from the one \'ou met two hours ago. His hand is 
not so firm ; his eye less open and bright ; his step is 
heav\' and slow ; his head is bowed ; his body bent ; 
his voice is changed and has lost its clear ring. He 
talks of no plans for to-morrow; he cares little for 
his projects of yesterda\'. He scarcely cares to see 
you, his intimate friend. You yourself feel that you 
are almost an intruder. 

His hands mo\-e but little from his body ; they 
clasp, they go to his head, his eyes, his breast or 
hang inactive at his sides. His utterances are the 
moan, the sigh, or a few broken words, all tremulous 
with his agony. He is wrapt up within himself. 

This is SUBJECTIVE. 

Or, suppose while you talk with your friend upon 
the street, a telegram informs him of financial losses, 
or the overthrow of some special plans. He will 
then become subjective. His manner will quickly 
change from the bright, cheerful, sprighth', to the 
thouo^htful, anxious, absorbed. He will foro"et vou, 
the morning, all about him. His voice will also 
change, and every movement will be different. He 
now ''communes with himself" and forgets other 
company. 

He is subjective. 

Or if you take up the morning paper and read 
down its columns as if for }'ourself only, your voice 
will have a careless, mumbling tone, that evidences 
that your reading is intended for yourself alone. But 
as you proceed, you find something relative to your 
friend who ma\' be near, }'ou read it o\'er and think 
it best to call his attention to it. You call him, 
*'Brown 1 Here's something for you I" Then you re- 



122 Practice of Speech 



read the article and every accent is widely different. 
Do you see? One was subjective ;. the other, objec- 
tive. Let me merely suggest, then, that children will 
read much better if they read to some one ; and min- 
isters preach better if they talk to their congregations 
and not to manuscripts. It is not enough that the 
mind be active, — it must be actively objective or 
subjective as the thought requires. Many a learned 
discourse sleeps, not in the ear of the audience — it 
never gets that far, but in the cranium of the speaker, 
who never gives it expression. 

I hope you understand me. If not, read this chap- 
ter again. It should suggest to you the cause and 
remedy of many faults in speaking. But observe 
this ; at no time can we be entirely objective or sub- 
jective. For as your friend when you first met him 
could not entirely get away from himself, he could 
not be altogether objective ; and as later, he could not 
forget the cause of his grief, so he could not be en- 
tirely subjective. But the objective or subjective state 
may largely preponderate. 



MIND CDNCEPTS. 



The manifestations of the Mind are plainly of three 
kinds. 

I. Mental Ideas, — Intellectual, Mathematical, hav- 
ing no perceptible emotion, ojzly fact. 

Such as demonstration of truth, plan^ purpose, di- 
rection for finding street, locality, or the performance 
of some mathematical operation. In utterance of such 
mental phrases the tone of voice is of peculiar char- 
acter, — mental, thoughtive, non-emotional. 



And Successful Selections. 123 



2. EviotioJial. — In expression of joy or sorrow, love 
or hate, pleasure, pain or disappointment, — as in an 
account of some pleasant meeting, some delightful 
journey, some disagreeable work, some glad surprise, 
some great sorrow, — every word or syllable tells of 
the soul impulse. 

3. Will Force. — When you express determination 
or mental energy, as if you should say most firmly : 
'' / shall do this!' Repeat this sentence several times, 
each time with increased firmness, and observe the 
peculiar tone that indicates your mental determina- 
tion. 

TAKE THREE SENTENCES: 

1. Locke says: — We are born with powers and 
faculties of mind capable of almost anything. 

2. But O, for a touch of the vanished hand 
And a sound of the voice that is still! 

3. If I were an American as I am an Englishman, 
while a foreign troop remained within my shores, I 
would never lay dow^n my arms, — never ! never \ 
never ! ! 

x\lso these three from Hamlet : 

1. Speak the speech I pray you as I pronounced 
it to you, trippingly on the tongue, and do not saw 
the air too much with your hand, thus ; but use all 
gently. For in the very torrent, tempest, and as I 
may say whirlwind of your passion, you must ac- 
quire and beget a temperance that may give it 
smoothness. 

2. O that this too — too solid flesh would meltf 
Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew ! God ! O God ! 
How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable seem to me 
all the uses of this world. 



124 Practice of Speech 



3. I will watch to-night I Perchance 'twill walk 
again. If it assume my noble father's person, I'll 
speak to it, though hell itself should gape and bid me 
hold my peace ! 

In the first series, the first sentence is simply a 
statement of fact ; the second expresses an emotion 
of longing and sorrow ; the third a strong energy of 
determination. So, in the second series, Hamlet in 
the first, gives direction to the player; in the second, 
he portrays a woeful agony; in the third, a determin- 
ation that passes all limits of reason. 

Now, you will certainly perceive that these sen- 
tences are widely different and that the proper rendi- 
tion of them will be given only by widely different 
uses of voice and gesture. You will perceive also, 
that certain tones, cadences, accents of voice are dis- 
tinctively mental^ others emotional^ and others of zvill 
force. 

Take almost any selection of Book II., and you 
will observe these three parts.- i. Descriptions of 
places, people, statements of time, manner, etc. 2. 
Emotional parts, grief, gladness, surprise, anger, shame, 
remorse. 3. A firmness or energy of expression, a 
power of assertion that is only possible by the use of 
the ivill. 

Each sentence must be partly mental ; it may be 
almost entirely non-emotional, or without will force, 
but it cannot be without a mental part. For our very 
words are so much mechanism, since they are formed 
by plan and are grouped methodically in phrases 
and sentences. And, in a wider sense, a discourse 
throughout has these three component parts. There 
is an intellectital strnctiirc^ a skeleton, a plan, an out- 
line, arrangement, a purpose, all of which is so much 



And SitccessfiU Selections. 125 

of mechanical device. Then there is an emotioiial 
part, a covering, as it were of this skeleton, with ever- 
changing emotions^ of surprise, wonder, astonishment, 
pity, sorrow, anger, fear, remorse, melancholy, &c. 
Then there is, too, a will part. Even the power ot 
utterance comes from the w^ll. There must be will 
to give the power of strong assertion, the firmness of 
opposition, the more than manlike power that says 
'^ I dare f\ that gives the audience the strong con- 
viction of the speaker's sincerity. 

Then, when these three powers are joined, then 
and then only does the full power of the speaker 
shine forth. 

"LIKE AND DISLIKE "—POSITIVE OR 
NEGATIVE. 



I believe we will all agree in classifying the things 
about us as ''good',' ''bad'' or "indiffej^ejit." That is, 
we '^like" things, we "dislike" them, or we are "indif- 
ferent" upon their presentation. This is true of things 
about us, of books, houses, people, cities, dwellings, 
occupations — of all the things we actually see, hear, 
touch, taste, smell, or that come in contact with any 
of our senses. 

It is also true of mental things, of ideas, thoughts, 
works of the imagination, results of reason, &c. We 
say,^'itis apleasingthought,'"'terribleto think of " And 
also of abstractions, as hope, virtue, truth, justice, love, 
honor, friendship — these are things we can not touch 
nor handle nor see, yet we say we ''like" them, ''admire" 
them, "prize" them, &c. While of vice, falsehood, 
strife, enmity, tyranny, hate, dishonor, we say 
we ^'dislike," we ^'condemn," we "deprecate," and 
"shun." Now, w^e say these things our minds and 
souls "prize," "like," "seek for," "desire," are positive. 



126 Practice of Speech 



Those we '' dislike," ''shun/' ''condemn/' are negative. 
If there be any things, thoughts, or emotions, we 
neither hke nor disHke, let them be "indifferent." It 
might be as well to say, we like all that give us pleas- 
ure and shun all that give us pain. Now, these things 
we like — positive — we go toward, we ask for them, 
look for them, our hands reach out after them. Things 
we dislike — negative — we go from, we repel them, we 
reproach them with speech. 

Now, every pai't of the Body can assert its like or dis- 
like — can express positive or negative ideas. 

THE FEET. 

In positive assertion, the weight is on the forward foot 
thus carrying the body forward, the body leans well 
forward, the knees bend perhaps, and the body 
kneels in asking for what it wants. Prayer, beseech- 
ing, asking, all are positive. 

Negative. — The weight is back, the body receding 
as in fright, terror, even sublimity and grandeur, if 
overpowering — but simple beauty is positive. In 
beholding a large building, we step from it, so at 
Niagara, or anything startling. 

Not only a backward movement, but a side movement 
is negative. Things we like, we approach directly — 
in straight line, not with veering movement. Remem- 
ber this — all that overpowers becomes negative^ even 
joy, laughter, just as excessive eating gives not pleas- 
ure but pain; so, excessive joy, mirth. 

THE BODY. 

When impulses are positive, the body leans forward 
as if drawn toward the object of thought or emo- 
tion, as when talking earnestly with our friends, look- 
ing intently at pictures or books. But if we are sur- 



And Successful Selections. 127 



prised, the movement is backward, as when we first 
see a friend, or a beautiful picture. 

The Body is negative when startled, surprised; 
moves backward, or to the side, as to shun, repel, or 
avoid the object presented. 

THE HEAD.. 

With positive ideas, inclines slightly forward toward 
objects, moves up and down to express assent, or ap- 
probation ; or reclines on the side nearest the object. 

Is negative, when it moves from side to side to 
express dissent, non-approval, to deny or refuse. 

THE EYE. 

When open, or directly forw^ard, show^s/'^i'///?y^ ideas. 
Side movement is negative ; also contracted move- 
ments show strong negation. 

LIPS. 

Positive, when calm or even or natural. Negative, 
when drawn or curled. 

HANDS. 

Positive, when palms are toward the face or head 
or heart. When they receive, beckon, ask, beseech. 

Negative, when reversed, or backs are toward face 
or head or heart. When they repel, ward off or 
banish. 

Thus each and every part of my body expresses its 
Hke or dislike to ideas or emotions. Then, if I 
strongly admire anything, all of my body must ex- 
press that admiration, or if I dislike an object all my 
body expresses that dislike. 

Suppose there be an object of love, then the weight 
is on the forward foot, the body leans forward, the 
head likewise^ the eye is open, well open and fixed 



128 Practice of Speech 



upon the object, the hands one or both are out- 
stretched toward the object — each part of the body 
expresses that emotion. But if there be an object of 
aversion, then the body is thrown back, the head up, 
or turned to the side, the eye to the side, the hand 
repels — all express aversion. 



THE SYMPATHETIC. 



One style or manner of speech each speaker should 
studiously avoid — the unsympathetic, inharmonious, 
which reflects no feeling, sentiment. Have you not 
heard the mechanical voice, automatic speech-making, 
— a tone that might be produced by an instrument 
of wood, or base metal? Have you not seen gestures 
that were made as by a jumping jack, where arms 
move as impelled by pulleys that were revolved by 
some crank ? There are but few^ parts of discourse 
that are so thoughtive as to admit no coloring of sym- 
pathy. There lies here one danger in practice of 
vocal exercises — a danger of machine work. The 
mere development of a voice, sole production of tone 
or voice power, is mechanical. 

You must cultivate that tone produced. It is only 
raw material for speech. It is the hard, unspeaking 
rock and }'ou must give it form and expression of 
statue work. It is the unhewn oak, you must 
smooth it, give it shape for your higher purpose. 
Mark this, the unsympathetic, matter-of-fact tone is 
usually the result of habit. We habitually restrain 
all emotional feeling and impulse and grow method- 
ical and common-place in speech. A noisy speaker is 
a nuisance ; noise is opposed to intensity. 

Do you not observe the differences of the tones of 
voice ; and is it not apparent that the gesture would be 



And Successful Selections. l'Z\) 

different in the examples? Now, \'ou must increase 
these differences — you must make the sad more sad, 
the determined more determined, the Uvely more 
Hveh\ &c. 



EGBturG-ActiDn. 



If you utter a sentence firmly, you will observe a 
strong action of the muscles of the w^aist and of the 
organs of articulatiori at the thoiiglit luord. Try this 
sentence : ''Time Jiiinself grows gray," emphasis on 
'^hhnselfy Try it again and raise the hand as you 
speak it and you will perceive the hand will complete 
the movement on " himself ^ Thus, the gesUtre goes 
with the idea, and is eoinpleted at the tlioiiglit word. 

Then, eaeJi Accent is really a Gesture, and all other 
movement of liand, arm, limb or entire body is but car- 
rying ont the impulse of the idea. So, I may make a 
thousand gestures and not move hand or foot, and I 
may move hands and feet a thousand times and not 
make one gesture. For, if the movement does not 
accord wath the idea, and is not complete at the 
tliought-word, it is not gesture. 

This is the law of gesture — TJie movement is witJi 
the idea. If a sentence has six ideas, there are six 
gestures, and each one maybe carried out with move- 
ment of hand, arm or entire body. 

This action of the body has a wonderful effect upon 
the speaker as well as upon the audience. It rouses 
the speaker. It increases the circulation of his blood, 
gives mental activity and enables him to forget his 
auditors and be master of himself Gesture must 
first affect the speaker. This action, beginning with 
muscles of the waist, and bringing into play all the 



130 Practice of Speech 



parts of the body, rouses the zui//, warms the blood, 
and stimulates the brain. Standing in easy position, 
try this sentence : / zui// do this^ emphasis on ''iviliy 
As you pronounce '' iviliy allow the hands to clench, 
the muscles of the neck to become firm, and the 
limbs to become braced. Try it again and raise one 
hand high as the head, or higher, keeping the body 
firm. Practice vigorously several times. Now, you 
will observe its effect upon you results not so much 
from the position of body and limbs, as from the 
firmness of each part, the contraction of muscles. 
The audience will not sec this gesture — they WiYifeel 
it. A blind man in your audience would know you 
made it. 

Try these examples, making the body firm for each 
emphatic accent. 

1. Dare ! I have dared cry '' Corne on f to a co- 
hort of bearded warriors^ and is it tliy smooth face 
shall appal me ! Dare I 

2. Glamis thou art and Cawder, and slialt be what 
thou art promised. 

3. Where is ixvy father ? I'll not be juggled with ! 
I'll be revenged most fully for miy father. 

Each part of the body may express an idea. 
Hands are no more dumb than lips. Man is intelli- 
gent to his toes and fingers. 



GESTURE. 



N. For examples in Gesture practice, use the Selections of Book II. 

If objects are rnateidal^ we designate them in four 
ways. I. With the eye — we look at them. 2. With 
the body — we lean toward or from the object. 3. 



And Successful Selections. 131 

With the foot — we step toward or from the object. 
4. With the hand, we point out the object. We may 
use one or all of these modes of designating the ob- 
ject; the more interest we have in the object, the more 
fully should w^e direct attention to it. Thus, a person 
passes my window, I see him, I become interested in 
him ; I lean forward to observe him closely; I step 
forward ; I point to him to call attention of others to 
him. 

If things are imaginary^ then my work is double. 
I wish now to have you see what I saw yesterday, 
last week, last year, or what I have in my mind. I 
must show my audience what my mind sees. Thus 
if it be a tree, mountain, river, building, person, land- 
scape, any scene or spectacle, a picture of it all is 
upon the mind and we describe this picture. As if 
you should say : Ladies and gentlemen, out there is a 
valley, down through it flows a river, over there is a 
lofty mountain ; there is a house, here are the people ; 
a boat is on that river, and so on, until your picture is 
before the audience in detail. When you thus give 
each object a place, it becomes real to you and to the 
audience. 

AS TO ABSTRACT THINGS. 



Thoughts, Emotions, Ideas, Facts, Truths, Joy, 
Hope, Sorrow, &c., things not material, all these must 
be treated as material. Treat them as if you could 
see, touch, handle them. Observe the following : 

1. Here are books. (Material.) 

2. Here are facts. (Abstract.) 

1. This is my watch. (Material.) 

2. This is my opinion. (Abstract.) 

1. Give me money ! (Material.) 

2. Give me sympathy. (Abstract.) 



132 Practice of Speech 



Here you will observe that the same movement ol 
gesture can express the two sentences. 

Then we treat as if Personages, Joy, Hope, Love, 
Time, Death, &c., as actual creations oi form with 
powers of niind and soul. So, w^e address them, reach 
out our hands to them, repel them, beseech them. 
And as to location, well, heaven is the source of all 
our good and as things appear better wx place them 
higher; as they lessen in grandeur or benefit, we place 
them lower. Thus virtues are angels and vices are 
demons. 

WORD PICTURES. 

Pictures make up the alphabet of Fancy, but they 
spell out many of our best thoughts. Picture lan- 
guage is common to all nations, all conditions of 
mankind. In the first rude carvins^s of the savaee, 
the rough hieroglyphics of the ancients, or the pol- 
ished simile or metaphor of Tennyson or Longfellow, 
it is the same principle. When we have striking, 
beautiful thoughts^ we use pictures to portray them. 

Thus we try to get or give an idea of Time. '^Time" 
is a ''stream," an ''ocean," a "valley," a "desert," an 
"old man," a "spirit." 

Thus "years" run as ^'sands^' "flow^ as brooks," 
^'days' fly like "the shuttle.''' ''Liberty is a ''luoman',' 
an ''angel,'' a divine spirit!' Ships are "ivhite-zvinged 
birds',' the "ivinds of heaven' are ''messengers^' a 
''Natio7i' is a "woman," a "spirit," a "goddess" as the 
names of nations all go to show. And so, when w^e 
think of these things, some picture comes to our 
minds, and our gesture must be such as to portray 
that picture. Then, of course, two persons may name 
the same thing and their gesture be w^idely different 
Suppose they both speak of "Time" and one pictures 
it as a "river," the other as "an old man with his 
scythe," the gesture of each must accord with his men- 
tal conception. 



I 



And Successful Selections. l:'>3 



GESTURE— NEGATIVE AND POSITIVE. 



Take two words of opposite meaning, ''Yes" and 

"No." 

Suppose I speak the latter, "No," firmly as if re- 
fusing some request. Suppose I am repeatedly urged 
to give my consent and with increasing force, I reply, 
"No !" and thus I continue until a series of negatives 
be used and at last I reach the most intense negati\-e. 

1. I may simply utter the word. 

2. I may shake the head as I utter it. 

3. I may utter the word more forcibly and move 
the head more firmly. 

4. I may make all the body firm. 

5. I may utter it with vehemence and make side 
movements of the hands and head. 

6. If I use my hand in any or all of this, it will be 
turned with the back to my face, and it will move more 
firmly as [my negation becomes more intense. 

7. This negation is mental, it is the mind that re- 
fuses, and therefore as negation increases you will 
perceive more firmness at the head and the hand 
will go toward the head. When the hand is as high 
as the shoulder, it has gone one half of its scope; 
when it reaches its highest point it has come to its 
limit as far as motion is concerned. But it may still 
strengthen the negation by increasing its firmness as 
well as by a side motion. 

So with "Yes," an affirmation. 

This also you may express in countless degrees. 
But the hand is turned the opposite — the palm to the 
face — and the movements of head are forward and 
back — not to the side. 

Thus a speaker may use the same sentence twenty 
times and unless his mental intensity is each time the 



184 Practice of Speech 



same, his gesture will be different. It is therefore ab- 
surd to try to follow a rule of gesture ; such as mak- 
ing so many movements of hands or feet ; for it is 
impossible for us to reproduce mental states to order, 
and as the gesture is but the means of portraying 
the work of the mind, it must be strong or weak as 
the mental impulse is intense or otherwise. 
As in above, practice the following phrases. 

NEGATIVE 
Neves! Never! 

I would never lay down my arms ! 

Most noble brother^ you have done me wrong ! 

I'll be revenged most fully for my wrongs. 

POSITIVE OR AFFIRMATIVE. 

Certainly ! 

I swear it, it is as true as heaven! 
It is my living sentiment and by the blessing of 
God, it shall be my dying sentiment. 

BREATHING. 

The action of breathing is wonderful as gesture. 
When listening, watching, intently engaged, we breathe 
short breaths and hold them long. When roused 
and angry, we breath long, full breaths, and the mus- 
cles of respiration act most vigorously. 

RELAXATION. 

It is difficult to relax the body sufficiently for 
some emotions. When we portray great sorrow, dis- 
pair, or weakness, all the body must relax. This is 
difficult. The breathing must change, the pulse must 
•^row feeble, the entire body must become weak. 



A)nl SufrcKsfnl Schrtunis. 



\']r, 




;»'. T~"v T^TTT^^^L p^ 



STAGE MOVEMENTS. 



This cut is designed especially to show movements 
and positions of persons before an audience. C is 
center of stage. R C, right center. L C, left center. 
U, up the stage, the idea being that the stage slopes 
downward toward the footlights. 

R I, R 2, R 3, R 4, are right entrances. L i, L 2, 
L 3, L 4, are left entrances. 

DIRECTIONS FOR MOVEMENTS. 

I. When on stage, with side to the audience, stand 
with foot froui the audience forward. See figure of 
Cut at L 2. 



i;]() Practice of S})eech 



2. In turnino- to leave the audience, turn with face 
to aiidtcjice. See figure of Cut, at R i. This per- 
son was facing figure at L 2 and turns to exit at R i. 

3. When standing beside table or chair, the foot 
next to table or chair should be advanced. See 
figure left of table in Cut. 

4. When seated, the legs should not be crossed, 
nor the feet parallel. Let them be turned almost at 
right angles, and one somewhat in advance of the 
other. 

5. A gentleman bowing to his audience should do 
so with the heels together. A lady should use the 
court'sy. 

6. When leaving the stage, the performer should 
walk to entrance and then turn so as to exit with face 
to his auditors. 

8. If possible, avoid walking across stage in line 
parallel to audience. Thus it will be better to go 
from L 4 to R 2 than from L 2 to R 2. 



PDBITIDNS DF BDDY. 



STANDING, STEPPING, WALKING, RUNNING. 



The Body is not often erect. The weight is usually 
supported mainly on one foot, one leg being relaxed. 
When the body is erect as in Cut 3, the weight is 
divided, half on each foot. But if the wxight changes 
to the right foot then you will observe as in Cut I, 
the waist moves to the right; the shoulders to left; 
the head to right. If the weight is changed to the left 
foot, then the waist moves to the left, the shoulders 
to right ; the head to left. So, to determine the posi- 
tions of other parts of the body observe the position 
of the waist. 

POSITIONS OF STANDING. 

I. Heels together, on line, as in Cut 32. 



And Successful Selections. 1:57 

This is not often used. It is an awkward position. 
It is used by gentlemen in bonnng^ or by servants, or 
in character sketches. When the feet are some distance 
apart, the heels on e\'en line, the position is one of 
burlesque, intoxication or z^'cakncss from illness. 

ONE FOOT ADVANXED.— ANGLE OF FEET. 

The strong angle is 
the rig J it angle. We use 
it wherever strength is 
required. So mfeticing, 
boxings all strong posi- 
tions of gymnastics^ w^e 
use it in placing \}s\^feet. 
The angle of the feet is 
measured by the lines 
passing through the feet 
from heel to toe. These 
lines will intersect, un- 
less the feet are parallel. 
In general, the lines 
should intersect at the instep of the rear foot. The 
angle for ordinary use should be nearly 60 degrees; as 
the position is made stronger, the angle widens to a 
right angle. Thus from the riglit angle, the strongest 
position, to placing the feet parallel, or even turning 
the toes inward, w^e have a scale of positions from 
strong to weak. The feet may be turned outward 
beyond a right angle, but this is a burlesque position. 
The general fault is turning the feet too nearly par- 
allel. 

{ct). Weight on forward Foot as in Cut i. 

Here the left leg is relaxed, the knee bent slightly, 

the toes turned well outward, while the body has a 

curve to right at waist, shoulders to left, head to 

right. The left foot may be in position well to rear 




138 



Practice of Speech 



of right, or even on line ^i right angle to the right foot. 
This is an excellent position for the speaker. It 
denotes energy, interest, and ease, and activity; it gives 
free action to muscles of the waist, and enables the 
speaker to quickly strengthen or relax the entire 
body as he proceeds. 

^^ {p). Weight on rear Foot as in Cut. 

Here the forward foot is turned well 
to the instep of the other, the left 
knee is relaxed and slightly curved 
inward^ and all other parts of the 
body correspond to position of feet. 
This is position for repose, for reflec- 
tion, or soliloqiiy. It denotes coiifi- 
denee, eonseious poiuer, or thought. 
How close one foot is to the other, 
depends upon the thought or emo- 
tion. The closer the feet, the weaker 
the position. The wider apart the feet, 
the more the body curves. In all, 
each foot may have ni7ie positions. 

In Cut, the right 
foot may have 
three positions in 
line 23, three in line 
37, three in line 45. 
But many of these 
are but seldom 
used, except in 
comedy, or bur- 
lesque. The free 
; foot will be at ease 
'1^ in any part of the 
\ circle from i to 3. 





_._._._.__,j3 



And Successful Selections. 139 



STEPPINB. 



0/?. One rule applies to all these exercises, when 
stepping to side or forward ; turn the toe directly to 
the point to which you intend moving. If you step 
to the right, turn the toe directly to the right, &c. 
Do not move the foot sideways. 

a. To step right and left. 

Stand as in Cut, extend the right leg to the right, 
the toe turned to right, the ankle fully extended ; 
have the toe touch the floor at about twenty inches 
from the instep of the left foot. Bring the right foot 
back to the left, the right heel at left instep. Practice 
several times. Now% make the step of the right foot 
longer, and just as the right toe touches the floor 
tur7t the heel to tlie right and ehange the weight to the 
right foot ^ bringiiig the heel of the left foot to the instep 
of tJie right foot. Now, practice in like manner wuth 
the left foot. In stepping to the side, bring the relax- 
ed foot to the instep of the foot that has the w^eight. 
The feet need not be brought together, but nearly so, 
and the bodv must chanp;e its curves at each move- 
ment. These exercises will require much practice, 
and will be beneficial in training the feet to a proper 
angle. 

This step will enable you to turn from one part of 
the audience to the other. Thus, if you face the audi- 
ence at your left, and wish to turn to the right, step to 
the left and bring the right foot to position as in the 
exercise. In like manner, you can turn from the 
right to face the left w^ith a single step. 

Which foot to step. 

In taking a step which foot should be moved ? The 
one that has the less w^eight. If the greater weight 



140 Practice of S%>eccli 



be on the rear foot, then the forward foot, or if the for- 
ward foot support the body's w^eight, then the rear 
foot moves first. 

Now, observe in 26, the right foot is forward, 
and yet we desire to step forward, how now^ ? Step 
with the relaxed hmb, either forward or back, or to 
the side. You ask, must I keep thinking of this ? No ; 
do it a few times observingly and you wdll not need 
to think of it. It is the natural step. 

THE FEET. 

They give strength or w^eakness to the structure of 
the body. They are the foundation. If they are 
parallel, they denote weakness, illness, blindness, or 
some lack of power. If at right angles they show^ 
firmness. If close together, they show less power 
than apart, as they support the body more firmly 
w^hen separated. If you speak of an object as if you 
see it, or point it out with the right hand, the right 
foot will usually be forward and the toes tuVned to- 
ward the object. So with the left hand and foot. 

THE KNEES. 

When firm, show firmness of mind, or will power. 
They relax with grief, fear, nervousness or timidity. 
Most persons bend the knee too much when walking. 
Upon the platform, the knee should bend but slightly 
in stepping. A 'Sveak-kneed" orator could not be 
expected to convince men. In w^alking, the motion 
of the body should be slight. 

THE ARMS. 

The full arm should be used when pointing or 
giving strong emphasis. A bent elbow is as bad as a 



And Successful Selections. 



141 



weak knee. The stroke of the arm for gesture gives 
great effectiveness. Thus in an}^ sentence of asser- 
tion, the arm ma}' gi\'e a stroke as in the gymnastic 
exercises. This stroke may be in any direction, but 
it will be stronger if forward than at the side, and 
stronger as it is upward rather than downward. Thus 
if I say, T/iis is true ! If I move the hand to the side 
it will not be strong ; if the stroke is forward, it will 
be better, but if raised aloft still better. It is then 
asserted as an oath. But you will perceive that my 
arm could make numberless movements for this one 
sentence. Which one, must depend upon the mind 
of the speaker. 

POSITION OF HANDS. 



The hand has two prime 
positions ; prone, back to the 
face, and supine the palm 
to the face. The one position 
is negative, the other posi- 
tive. For all we "like" or 
"'desire;' the palm is toward 
the face ; for all we "dislike" 
or "repel," the back of the 
hand is to the face, or rather 
toward the mind, acting from the brain. 

Also the hand is elejieheei, or Jialf-elenclied, or eon- 
vitlsive, as in grasping. It also points^ beekoiis; or re- 
pels, as in Cut 3. 

The hands have great power of expression. In 
general, a gentleman should allow the hands at his 
sides, when not using them for action. For a lady, 
the better position is with hands in front of waist, 
lightly clasped, or one hand in the other. This is 




142 Practice of Speech 



one of the requirements of fashion, custom and 
habit. Ladies do not carry their arms at their sides 
on the street or in drawing rooms. If when they are 
before the audience they do so, they are ill at ease, 
because they are doing an unaccustomed thing. Be- 
sides this, it gives a lady the appearance of being 
''round-shouldered," and having a set of arms abnor- 
mally long. If, however, her work be of a tragic 
character, calling for great power, she will not wish 
to attempt it with folded hands. The hands are 
clasped in sympathy ; they are parted in dislike or 
indifference. They are clenched for energy and de- 
termination. They are wrung in sorrow, and w^ander 
about aimlessly in insanity or any mental distraction. 
The thumb refers to objects already knowm or men- 
tioned ; the index finger points out new objects, or 
demonstrates ; the second finger is sensitive — sympa- 
thetic ; the third finger keeps close to the second and 
is like it in expression ; the little finger refers to things 
small or delicate. When the hand is extended the 
fingers should be well open. The thumb should open 
well, as it is the sign of weakness when it is turned 
toward the middle of the hand. 

THE LINE OF MOVEMENT. 



The hand or arm or body should follow curved 
lines of movement for gesture. The circle, parts of 
the circle, the compound curves, are the lines used if 
the thought and emotion be fine and beautiful. 
Straight lines are used with sudden emotion or con- 
fusion of ideas. T/ie more beautiful the thought or erno- 
tion^ the more beautiful the movement for gesture. 



ulnd Successful Selections. 



143 



f 




In the Cut, the arm makes 
the loophne in movement of 
gesture. This can be made 
from any point of the body 
or with either or both hands. 
Also, all movements of cir- 
cles and compound curves, 
such as given in the gesture- 
gymnastic practice may be 
followed. The arm may de- 
scribe figures of almost ev^ery 
sort in its movement for ges- 
ture. It may form a circle, 
an ellipse, a spiral movement, 
even triangles or squares. 



SCALES OF INTENSITY. 



The hand changes its position with the meaning or 
intensity of the thought or emotion. 

Fi7^st. As I grow more emphatic, as the idea is 
more important, the hand ascends until if the mean- 
ing be very intense, the hand goes to its highest 
limit. 

Thus, I may make any assertion and upon repetition, 
as the meaning is intensified, my hand w^ill rise higher, 
and my strongest gesture is with the arm fully extend- 
ed upward. 

Second. As I direct attention from me, the hands 
go outward, and the more intense the interest, the 



144 Practice of Speech 



farther my hands go from me. Also, when my 
hands come to the body, or rest upon the body, they 
take position corresponding to the intensity of the 
thought or emotion. Thus, I may think with my 
hands at my sides ; if more interested, they may go 
to the chest ; if still more intense, to the chin ; if still 
more to the head. 

So, in excitement or effort of the will, the body 
grows firmer with intensity, and relaxes with pathos. 
Thus we have a scale of energy of body for intensity 
of meaning^. 



^j^' 



StammGrino and StuttEring. 



These Defects of Speech present many peculiarities. 
They are most distressing to the persons thus afflicted, 
as well as to all who attempt conversation with them. 
The defect is both mental and physical. It is some- 
times hereditary, sometimes acquired by thoughtless 
imitation, sometimes the result of sickness. It usually 
affects the health of the person somewhat, but more 
certainly, it affects his mind, frequently resulting in 
insanity. 

Some peculiar traits of the stammerer are : 

1. He can usually sing. 

2. He can shout or call to a distance. 

3. If excited he speaks with difficulty, but if z'^;^ 
angiy^ he can speak. 

4. He can speak with some one else, as in "con- 
cert.'' 

5. He can speak, read, or talk, when alone. 

6. He can talk if very sick or in great pain. 

7. He is easily put out of breath. 



^\ ncl Successf}tl Selections. 145 

8. Usually stoop-shouldered. 

9. If he runs, he has pain in left side. 

10. He is worse when unwell. 

1 1. He is of nervous temperament. 

12. He displays some peculiar mental traits. 

Still others could be mentioned. As to ''cures," 
they are legion. We may mention briefly a few. 

1. Keeping time to speech. 

2. Speaking with mouth full of pebbles. 

3. Speaking with spring of steel between jaws. 

4. Speaking with pebble under the tongue. 

5. Splitting the tongue. 

6. Piercing the tongue or burning it. 

7. Speaking with teeth closed. 

8. Pressing muscles of throat as if choking. 

9. Practice of articulation of sounds. 
10'. Scolding and threats of violence. 

These and still others have been tried and all have 
been ''successful." But still a few wretches stammer. 
In fact^ each one of these expedients has in some 
cases proven successful, but no one will benefit many 
cases. I now submit a system that embraces the 
merits of several of those mentioned and will remedy 
many of the defective traits of the stammerer. 

But, first, let me say, he must have patience, energy 
and perseverance. He must follow the exercises as 
laid down and develop and train the muscles as I 
direct. He must train both mind and body. 
PRACTICE. 

1st. He must acquire use of the waist muscles as 
directed at opening of this book. These muscles 
must have daily practice of one hour, at least. 

2d. Let him stand firm, keep the waist firm, clench 
the hands, close the jaws firmly as if trying to crush 
something between the teeth. Now, open the jaw 
slightly and pronounce a, e, i, o, u, and after each 
sound close the jaw very determmedly as if crushing 
the sound. This will train the zui// as well as the 
muscles. Practice several minutes and keep the waist 
firm. The waist should vaoY^^firnily outward at each 
sound. He must do this exercise with all the body. 
This he must practice daily. 



1 46 Practice of Speech 



3d. He must make the sounds as if lifting a heavy 
weight. Each sound should come in a labored way, 
much like a groan. The practice should be so vigor- 
ous that fifteen minutes will induce great fatigue. 
When tired, he must rest and then practice again. 

4th. Take a sentence : / — shall — bring — this — book. 
Repeat this, crushing each word between the teeth, 
as in practice of vowels. Keep waist very firm, and 
compel muscles at waist to oppose those of the jazv. 
Repeat this sentence often. Take other sentences, 
the examples for emphasis will do. But do not give 
two words without closing the jaw between. Practice 
all of these exercises daily for four or six weeks, 
longer still if necessary. Then you may pronounce 
a phrase, or long words, closing the jaw firmly be- 
tween phrases. If difficult, make the pressure of 
muscles stronger. Let each phrase be given as if 
straining. Do not utter any sentences carelessly. 
Even those that are easy for you should have this 
firm utterance, for if you relax the muscles, they will 
soon give you trouble. The final result of this prac- 
tice on the voice will be to render it full and strong, 
and not unnatural. 

Practice in this way sentences of conversation that 
are difficult. Ask some friend or teacher to hear you 
practice. Talk with people with this firmness. Keep 
determined, patient and hopeful and you will soon see 
vast improvement. You will probably need practice 
for several months or a year in all. 



VENTRILOQUISM. 



This mysterious Art may be acquired by any one 
who has patience and a good ear. The tones are 
made mainly by use of the waist muscles, hence the 
name, ventriloquism, which means speaking from the 
abdomen. Here let us observe, that no one really 
" throws his voice." He imitates a sound made at a 
certain point. And, yet, it hardly seems to the per- 



And Successful Setections. 147 

former as an imitation. It must appear to him as if 
the sound were actually made at the point indicated. 
He must in a great measure deceive himself as well as 
his audience. Suppose some one outside my door 
asks, — ''Who's there?" These sounds must pass 
through the door before they can be heard. They 
will be somewhat obscured and muffled, and the con- 
sonants will mainly be lost. Now, if I wish to imi- 
tate this voice, I ko/d back^ miifflc or obscure my 
words. Well, as I do not need the consonants, I 
need not use my lips, so closing the teeth well and 
raising the tongue, my voice will give the imitation very 
easily. If the voice is to come from above, I use a 
slightly higher pitch ; if from below, a lower pitch. 
This will, I trust, explain the theory of the art. I 
now give exercises for forming the best ventriloquial 
tones. When properly made, these tones do not 
weary, or irritate the vocal organs. The tone used is 
the Orotund and I know no better vocal practice for 
developing some qualities of voice than this. 

EXERCISES. 

1. Get full control of waist muscles as directed 
at opening of this book. 

2. Holding waist firm, teeth almost closed, repeat 
firmly a, e, i, o, u, as if groaning, making the sound 
deep in the throat and prolong it, but do not move 
the jaw or lips. Practice frequently, a few minutes at 
a time. 

3. Make these sounds as if straining to speak. 
Make them very low, so as to compel you to listen 
for them. Practice them while walking about the 
room, until you can give them in an easy, careless 
manner. Do this, that a stranger in your room at the 
time would not see your lips move or know by your 
face that you were making sounds. 

4. Shout "Holloa !" firmly and then listening as if 
for an echo at a distance, repeat with firm restraint of 
tone ''Holloa!" making it very light. Practice this 
while walking your room as in last exercise. 

5. Try a short sentence in like manner. 



148 ( Practice of Speecli. 



. 6. Go to the door and ask firmly and abruptly : 
"Anyone out there?" Then, reply in a restrained 
voice, '' K'i', I amy 

Try like sentence to different points. Listen for the 
answer yourself and try to think it comes from the 
point indicated. 

In speaking, keep your side to the audience at first. 
Having made one sentence correctly, the rest is easy. 
Prepare conversations with these imaginary persons, 
being careful to make all ventriloquial answers brief. 
Do not try to articulate the consonants distinctly. 
Do not move the lips. 

If you talk to a figure or use a tone as if the door 
were opened when some one was outside, make the 
sound as if in the cheek instead of in the throat. 
The nearer the person is to you, the nearer the tips 
of your teeth the sound should be brought. 

SOUND IMITATIONS. 

These require careful practice. 

I. The Sazv, Place the tongue well back against 
the roof ot the mouth and holding it firmly there, 
force the breath past it tow^ard the teeth. Vary the 
sound with the movement of the hand in sawing. 

The Plane, Much the same, only the tongue is 
held nearer the teeth. 

The Bees. The air is held compressed in the cheek 
and forced through the lips at either corner of the 
mouth or at the front teeth. 

The Glass of Soda. The tip of the tongue is near 
the teeth and the air is forced past it. This is very 
easy. 

The Dog and Cat. All sounds of cries of animals 
must be given in the restrained tones of the first exer- 
cises of ventriloquism. 

All these demand careful practice, but with patience 
they may all be mastered. In my own case, I prac- 
ticed many days for the first imitation, but all others 
were easy. The first part is the difficult part. 



Book II 



Successful Selections. 



" Recitation, sufficiently varied so as to include pieces of chaste wit, 
as well as of pathos, beauty, and sublimity, is adapted to our present 
intellectual progress. The drama appeals more strongh^ to the passions 
than recitation ; but the latter brings out the meaning of the author 
more. Shakespere, worthily recited, would be better understood than 
on the stage."— Channing. 



"A good reader summons the mighty dead from their tombs and 
makes them speak to us."— Emerson. 



i 



PREFACE. 



The selections of this book have been chosen for 
their special fitness for public use, as well as general 
practice. They have all been proven ''successful" 
by performers of excellent reputation. They cover a 
wide range of work, and I feel assured that each 
student will find here something to suit. There are 
many books of selections, but few of these books 
furnish more than two or three pieces that are in favor 
with a general audience. Then, again, not many of 
such books afford good material for practice and 
development in different lines of work. We have 
here a collection affording widest range. The pa- 
thetic, humorous, serious, lively, dramatic, didactic, 
character, sketch, dialects, imitative, — in short, almost 
every variety of work for public entertainment. 

With the hope that the selections may prove truly 
''successful" in the hands of students, they are 
respectfully submitted. 

Byrox W. Kixg. 



I 



THE CLOVER MEADOW. 

BYRON W. KING. 

'Tis only a little story 

Of a little love and tears, 
That my memory has treasured 

Erom out the whirling years ; 
Two children down in the meadow, 

When the lis^ht of dav has flown, 
Tossing about the win-rows 

Of clover hay new-mown ; 
A boy, wuth face of laughter 

And many a golden curl. 
And the comrade of his romping 

A gleeful, blue-eyed girl ; 
Alone in the grcat^ wide meadow. 

Alone in the twilight's glow. 
And the boy's voice keeps repeating 

In tones so clear and low : 

'' I have a love that loves me, 
She loves me well I know; 

And hand in hand together 

Thro' the great world we will go!" 

And w^hile the strains of music 

Yet linger on his lips, 
From out the arching heavens 

Falls the deep night's black eclipse. 



1 



Practice of Speech 



Ten years have passed forever 

From out the Hves of men, 
And under the faUing twih'ght 

There Hnger two forms again. 
A manly youth and a maiden 

Are standing rapt and still 
While the sunset's golden glory 

Is folding the meadow and hill ; 
And he is so tall and handsome, 

So manly and so true ! 
And she regards him fondly 

With eyes that are deep and blue. 
Two lovers are planning the future 

With hearts that are brave and strong! 
And I hear with silent rapture 

The words of that sweet old sonp; : 



^t> ■ 



'' I have a love that loves me, 
She loves me well I know ; 

And hand in hand together 

Thro' the great world we will go." 



The years^ like a dream, have vanished, 

And standing alone to-night. 
As I think of the clover meadow, 

A something dims my sight! 
I wait by the cold, white sepulcher 

And recall the tears I shed, 
And lo ! the portals open. 

And they rise, my holy dead ! 
I can hear the call for battle^ 

For hero hearts and brave, 
When a Nation calls her children 

To succor and to save ! 



(nid Successful Selections. 



I can hear the battle music, 

The roll of the stirring drum, 
The tramp of the gathered milHons 

As the marshaled armies come. 
And, now, as the night grows deeper, 

And the midnight shadows fall. 
They bring me a heavy burden 

That is shrouded with heavy pall ; 
And my boy of the clover meadow, 

My lover of after years, 
Lies silent and cold before me 

And heeds not my bursting tears ! 
And I can only murmur 

Thro' the tears that blinding flow. 
The song of the clover meadowy 

Of that sweet old long ago : 

" I have a love that loves me, 
She loves me well I know ; 

And hand in hand together 

Thro' the great world we will go !" 



The years still flow^ in silence 

And bear me on their breast 
And I stand in Life's evening shadows 

While its sunset gilds the west ; 
I wait in the solemn glory 

That crowns Life's western dome. 
And out of the falling twilight 

I hear the whisper, " come!" 
And while I sadly linger 

My eyes grow moist and dim, 
And my soul goes forth in answer 

To the words that fall from /mn ; 



Practice of Speech 



And while Life's latest glories 

Are fading soft and slow, 
I hear again the echoes, 

The echoes sweet and low : 

'' I have a love that loves me, 
She loves me well I know ; 

And hand in hand together 

Thro' the great world we will go!" 



BOYS IN BLUE. 

INGERSOLL. 

The past rises before me like a dream. Again we 
are in the great struggle for National life. We hear 
the sounds of preparation — the music of the boister- 
ous drums — the silver voices of heroic bugles. We see 
thousands of assemblages, and hear the appeals of 
orators ; we see the pale cheeks of women, and the 
flushed faces of men ; and in those assemblages we 
see all the dead whose dust we have covered with 
flowers. We lose sight of them no more. We are 
with them when they enlist in the great army of free- 
dom. We see them part with those they love. Some 
are walking for the last time in quiet, woody places, 
with the maidens they adore. We hear the whisper- 
ings and the sweet vows of eternal love as they lin- 
geringly part forever. Others are bending over cradles, 
kissing babies that are asleep. Some are parting with 
mothers who hold them and press them to their 
hearts again and again, and say nothing; and some 
are talking with wives, and endeavoring, with brave 
words, spoken in old tones, to drive from their hearts 
the awful fear. We see them part ; we see the wife 
standing in the door, with the babe in her arms — 



And Successful Selections. 



standin^^ in the sunlight, sobbing; at the turn of the 
road a hand waves — she answers by holding high in 
her loving hands the child. He is gone, and forever ! 
We see them all as they march proudly away 
under the flaunting flags, keeping time to the wild, 
grand music of war — marching down the streets of the 
great cities, through the tow^ns and across the prairies, 
down to the fields of glory — to do and to die for the 
eternal right. 

We go wath them one and all. We are by their 
sides on all the gory fields, in all the hospitals of pain, 
on all the weary marches. We stand guard with them 
in the wild storm and under the quiet stars. We are 
with them in the ravine running with blood — in the 
furrows of old fields. We are wath them between 
contending hosts, unable to move, wild with thirst, the 
life ebbing slowly away among the withered leaves. 
We see them pierced by the balls and torn with shells 
in the trenches by the forts, and in the whirlwind of 
a charge, when men become iron, with nerves of steel. 

We are with them in the prisons of hatred and 
famine, but human speech can never tell what they 
endured. 

We are home when the news comes that they are 
dead. We see the maiden in the shadow of her first 
sorrow. We see the silvered head of the old man 
bowed with the last grief. 

The past rises before us, and we see four millions 
of human beings governed by the lash — w^e see them 
bound hand and foot — we hear the stroke of cruel 
wdiips — we see the hounds tracking w^omen through 
tangled swamps. We see babies sold from the breasts 
of mothers. Cruelty unspeakable! Outrage infinite! 

Four million bodies in chains — four million souls 



10 Practice of Speech 

in fetters. All the sacred relations of wife, mother, 
father and child trampled beneath the brutal feet of 
might. And all this \yas done under our own beauti- 
ful banner of the free. 

The past rises before us. We hear the roar and 
shriek of the bursting shell The broken fetters fall. 
These heroes died. We look. Instead of slaves we 
see men, and women, and children. The wand of 
progress touches the auction block, the slave-pen, the 
whipping-post, and we see homes, and firesides, and 
school houses, and books, and where all was want, and 
crime, and cruelty, and fetters, we see the faces of the 
free. 

These heroes are dead. They died for liberty — 
they died for us. They are at rest. They sleep in the 
land they made free, under the flag they rendered 
stainless; under the solemn pines, the sad hemlocks, 
the tearful willows and the embracing vines. They 
sleep beneath the shadows of the clouds, careless alike 
of sunshine and of storm; each in the windowless 
palace of rest. Earth may run red with other wars 
— they are at peace. In the midst of battles, in the 
roar of conflict they found the serenity of death. I 
have one sentiment for the soldiers, living and dead — 
cheers for the living and tears for the dead. 



BURNED OUT. 

BY CARRIE HEA. 



Yes, parson, it's all gone — my little home there. 

And things I've worked for years and years together; 

Burned to the ground last night — and now I'm left here 
Without a shelter in this cold March weather. 



And Successful Selections. 11 

But, as you say, I've friends who'll take me in, 
'Till I can build another roof above me — 

It's tough to call t/iat ''home" instead of this. 

Where long I've lived with those who used to love me. 

" Be thankful that my life was spared? " I am, sir; 

You say, '' Don't take it quite so hard, my friend." 
Some things burned up beside my house, for which, sir, 

I grieve with sorrow that will never end. 

Why, yes, I zuas insured — but that's no matter. 

I soon could earn enough to build again. 
But then, those other things that I just spoke of — 

I'll tell you, parson, it will ease the pain. 

I had a little, faded, yellow letter; 

A mother wrote it to her absent son ; 
You see the son before you — but the mother 

Died years ago — and, oh ! tkat letter's gone ! 

Parson, you know my wife — the best, best wife, sir — 
You came that night she died, a year ago. 

When my time comes, if I'm one-half as ready, 

The Lord will take me straight to heaven, I know^ 

I had her picture hung above my table — 
Just think of it; it nearly drives me mad ! 

It chokes me ; but I'll try to tell you, parson — 
Her picture s burned — the only one I had! 

And then, I lost my boy — I had a ringlet — 
I cut it from his head the night he died ; 

And when I thought about that curl that morning, 
You cannot wonder, can you, that / cried ? 

And then my little girl, my one last treasure ; 

Her voice w^as like a httle silver bell. 
And her blue eyes — such eyes ! but there, I know sir. 

There's no one could describe my little Nell. 



12 Practice of Speech 



I kept her little shoes upon my shelf, sir, 
Where I could see them every dreary day; 

They always made me think of those sweet verses, 
*'Those little feet can never go astray." 

Do ^^^// things work together for our good,"' sir ? 

I tell you I can't make it seem just right; 
Ned's curl, Nell's shoes, wife's picture, mother's letter, 

A// burned to ashes in the fire last night. 

I knew that you would listen to my story — 
I felt 'twould do me good to talk it over. 

You see, the worst that the fire can burn, sir, 
Are things insurance policies don't cover. 



IN THE BOTTOM DRAWER. 

I saw wife pull out the bottom drawer of the old 
family bureau this evening, and I went softly out, and 
wandered up and down, until I knew that she had shut 
it up and gone to her sewing. We have some things 
laid away in that drawer which the gold of kings could 
not buy, and yet they are relics which grieve us until 
both our hearts are sore. I haven't dared look at them 
for a year, but I remember each article. 

There are two worn shoes, a little chip-hat with 
part of the brim gone, some stockings, pants, a coat, 
two or three spools, bits of broken crockery, a whip, 
and several toys. Wife — poor thing — goes to that 
drawer every day of her life, and prays over it, and 
lets her tears fall upon the precious articles; but I 

dare not go. 

Sometimes we speak of little Jack, but not often. 
It has been a long time, but somehow we can't get 
over grieving. He was such a burst of sunshine into 
our lives that his going away has been like covering 



And Successful Selections, 13 



our every-day existence with a pall. Sometimes, when 
we sit alone of an evening, I writing and she sewing, 
a child on the street will call out as our boy used to, 
and we will both start up with beating hearts and a 
wild hope, only to find the darkness more of a burden 
than ever. 

It is so still and quiet now. I look up at the win- 
dow w^here his blue eyes used to sparkle at my coming, 
but he is not there. I listen for his pattering feet, his 
merr>^ shout, and his ringing laugh ; but there is no 
sound. There is no one to climb over my knees, no 
one to search my pockets and tease for presents : and 
I never find the chairs turned over, the broom down, 
or ropes tied to the door-knobs. 

I want some one to tease me for my knife, to ride 
on mv shoulder ; to lose mv axe ; to follow me to the 
gate when I go, and be there to meet me when I come ; 
to call " good-night " from the little bed, now empty. 
And wife, she misses him still more : there are no little 
feet to wash, no prayers to say ; no voice teasing for 
lumps of sugar, or sobbing with the pain of a hurt toe; 
and she would give her own life, almost, to awake at 
midnight, and look across to the crib and see our boy 
there as he used to be. 

So we preserve our relics ; and when we are dead 
we hope that strangers will handle them tenderly, even 
if they shed no tears over them. 



A TRAVELER'S EVENING SONG. 

MRS. HEMANS. 

Father! Guide me, day declines; 
Hollow winds are in the pines; 
Darkly waves each giant bough 
O'er the sky's last crimson glow ; 



14 Practice of Speecfi 



Hushed is now the convent bell, 
Which erewhile with breezy swell, 
From the purple mountains bore 
Greeting to the sunset shore. 
Now the sailor's vesper hymn 

Dies away. 
Father! in the forest dim, 

Be my stay ! 

In the low and shivering thrill 
Of the leaves that late hung still; 
In the dull and muffled tone 
Of the sea-waves distant moan ; 
In the deep tints of the sky 
There are signs of tempest nigh. 
Ominous, with sullen sound. 
Falls the echoing dust around. 
Father! through the storm and shade, 

O'er the wild, 
Oh ! be thou the lone one's aid. 

Save thy child ! 

Many a swift and sounding plume 
Homeward through the boding gloom, 
O'er my way hath flitted fast, 
Since the farewell sunbeam passed 
From the chestnut's ruddy bark, 
Where the wakening night winds sigh 
Through the long reeds mournfully. 
Homeward, homeward all things haste- 
God of night ! 
Shield the homeless ; midst the waste, 
Be his light ! 

In his distant cradle nest, 
Now my babe is laid to rest ; 



And Successful Selections. 15 

Beautiful his slumber seems, 

With a glow of heavenly dreams ; 

Beautiful o'er that bright sleep, 

Hang soft eyes of fondness deep, 

Where a mother bends to pray 

For the loved one far away. 

Father! guard that household bower, — 

Hear that prayer ! 
Back- through thine all-guiding power, 

Lead me there ! 

Darker, wilder, grows the night ; 

Not a star sends quivering light 

Through the massy arch of shade 

By the stern old forest made. 

Thou ! to whose ne'er slumbering eyes 

All my pathway open lies. 

By thy Son, who knew distress 

In the lonely wilderness, — 

Where no roof to that blest head 

Shelter gave, — 
Father ! through the time of dread. 

Save ! oh, save ! 



HOURS OF NIGHT. 

BYRON W. KING. 

O heavenly night ! When far and deep 
The earth is wrapped in balmy sleep, 
And stars their burning watches keep 

O'er palace proud and lowly cot ; 
When all the weary hearts of men 
Breathe in the strength of life again 
And all the throes of racking pain. 

And toil and labor are forgot. 



16 Practice of Speech 

O hours of night! How softly fall 
Your mantling shadows, folding all, 
And covering deep from our recall 

The memories of life's cruel past ! 
When haunting voices from the day 
Grow fainter, fainter, far away ! 
And that pure Peace for which we pray 

Bindeth the trembling spirit fast. 

And standing with her wings out-spread 

Above the lowly sleeper's bed. 

She poureth balm on heart and head 

And heals the wasting form with sleep. 
When all the soul's wild haunting fears, 
And all the burdens from tlie years 
That crowd our hearts and move our tears 

Are lost in soothing silence deep. 

O rest and rapture of the soul ! 
When all the griefs our days control, 
Like shadows, black and heavy, roll 

Into oblivion's voiceless sea ! 
To be from all the heart has known, 
From all a bitter world has shown 
Of anguish upon anguish thrown. 

At last ! at last entirely free ! 

He knows not life, who has not found 
Beneath its hours of night profound 
Some soothing balm for every wound 

Relentless Care has wrought; 
Who has not come from tears and pain 
With purer heart and wiser brain, 
And girt himself for toil again 

Of holier deeds and higher thought. 



And Successful Selections. 17 

And when shall fall that solemn Sleep, 
That foldeth, foldeth, dark and deep! 
Earth's night of night, whereat we w^eep, 

In dust and ashes kneeling low; 
Be welcome shadows, as they fall ! 
Be welcome Peace, that 'waiteth all, 
And folds each in her sable pall, 

And drops a veil on earth and w^oe! 

Close then the eyes, and o'er the breast 
Fold the dumb hands ye oft have pressed, 
And calmly whisper, '' Let him rest 

In sleep that cometh from his God ! 
For all his w^eary \vork is done. 
And all the toilsome race is run, 
From rising unto setting sun 

Life's rugged journey he has trod!" 



THE ORCHARD TREE. 

BYRON W. KING. 

From under the spreading branches 

Of a brave old orchard tree 
Rang out the merry voices 

Of childish mirth and glee ! 
Four cheeks that were red and dimpled, 

'Neath ringlets of golden hair, 
Four eyes that were flashing sunshine. 

Four lips that were laughing at care! 
In the golden glow of autumn 

The sun sank to his rest, 
And cloud-built castle and turret 

Loomed high in the silver west; 
And while the Day still lingered 



18 . Practice of Speech 



Ere he closed the pillared gate, 
Together they played in the twilight, 

Two cousins, wee Jennie and Kate. 
They were playing they were ''big folk," 

And gravely, with look and tone, 
Each was telling a fancied story 

Of the trials she called her own. 
Till Kate, with a merry twinkle, 

Called her cousin " grand-mother Jane;" 
And a peal of merriest laughter, 

Rang forth again and again. 
They laughed till the evening shadows, 

Fell darkly on orchard and hill. 
And they found themselves in the darkness, 

Silent and breathless and still. 
And the light and the day and the children. 

From the orchard all had gone. 
And under the silent starlight 

Stood the old tree, dark and lone. 

The years fled silently, swiftly, 

And soon the cousins small 
Were classed among the lassies, 

Blushing, blithe and tall. 
Kate's home was the home of her childhood, 

But Jennie's was far away. 
And down to the waving orchard, 

There came a letter one day: — 
'' Dear, gentle, kind old cousin Kate, 

Come up and see me," — thus it ran — 
•'So much to tell, I can never wait. 

Come up and see me, soon as you can! 
I've a home that's good, a house that's fine. 

And friends and flowers, books and trees. 
All I could wish for, I call mine. 



And Successful Selections. 19 

And then, in addition to all of these, 
Dear Kate, I've a Lover, he's better than gold! 

He's tall and handsome and good and true — 
Beats the story-books a hundred-fold ! 

And so I love him, now would'nt you ? 
And so we've decided, ''for better or worse," 

The wedding day is the tenth of June, 
Just six w^eeks off — you'll come, of course; 

Write a long letter, write it soon." 

From the little house by the orchard 

Kate sent a letter next day, 
And told her all her secrets 

In her sweet familiar way : — 
'' Dear Jenn. how I'd like to see your face ! 

I've questions and questions without end. 
If you could visit the dear old place. 

You'd find more news than I can send! 
For I've a Lover that's all m\^ own. 

He's handsome too, and good and kind ; 
Count the world over, one by one, 

Truer or better you'll never find ! 
He's all unknown to rank or fame. 

And you know I'll make but a modest wife ; 
He has not much wealth, but all the same, 

I know we'll be happy, so ''here's long life!" 
God bless us all ! May we often hear 

Of sunshine over our pathways shed ! 
Come visit me, Jenn, in the spot so dear 

Where the sweet, bright hours of childhood fled." 

But years and years departed ' 

After the bright wedding days. 
And the cousins still iourneved onward, 

Still going in different ways ; 



20 Practice of Speech 



Till one day another letter 

Came to Kate from the hand of Jenn, 
Bringing love and tears and sunshine 

With each stroke of the earnest pen. 

''Dear Kate : — 

How I've longed to see you, 

Through all of these happy years ! 
When I think of our girlish pleasures 

My eyes grow moist with tears. 
I wish you could see my home, Kate, 

Myself and my family, 
Three girls and two strapping boys, Kate, 

As merry as merry can be ! 
Do come and pay us a visit, 

We'll talk our lives over again ; 
I send heaps of love and blessing. 

Your Motherly Cousin, 

Jenn." 

And the letter from Kate was a model 

Of wifely, motherly pride, 
TelHng line by line of her sunshine, 

With the shadows all put aside. 

*' Dear Jenn : — 

I've so much to tell you, 
I'm the happiest woman on earth! 

My home is a palace of sunshine, 
Just ringing with laughter and mirth! 

My boys are wonderful fellows. 
And my girls, of course, they're the best ! 

Come and see me, come right early, 
And I'll tell you all of the rest." 



And Successful Selections. 21 

But they busied with household duties, 
While the years fled sure and fast, 

Till a score of snowy winters 
Their shadows o'er them cast. 

One evening, under the branches, 
Where they played so long ago, 

Kate sat in the gathering twilight 
And was sinc^ins^ soft and low, 

When up through the leafy orchard 
Came a figure aged and bent, 

With a face all calm and peaceful 
Lit up by a sweet content; 

Beneath the mingling shadows 
Up to Kate she softly crept, 

And printing a kiss on her forehead 
She fell in her arms and wept. 

And the two who in Life's morning 
Had mJngled their joys and tears, 

Now told life's solemn story, 
In the twilight of their years. 

"And now, Kate, where is your Lover 

So handsome, fine and tall ? 
And w^here are the boys and girls, Kate ? 

Let me see them, one and all." 

Said Kate, while a tear-drop glistened : — 

'* My Lover and husband is dead. 
And the nestlings of my home, Jenn, 

Are all full-grown and fled. 
And yours have likewise left you^ 

And it seems that our work is done. 
We are more alone in the world now 

Than when our work was begun!" 



Practice of Speech 



Then out of the sunset's ocean 

A flood of glory rolled, 
And the two as in happy childhood 

Were wrapped in its crimson fold. 
And over their faded features 

Came a look of peace sublime, 
And hand in hand the cousins 

Were ending the journey of time. 
Each head dropped lower and lower 

Till it touched the motionless breast, 
And in love that was deep and infinite 

The travel-worn hearts found rest. 
And the evening light more holy, 

More softly o'er them fell. 
Like the close of a benediction 

That the angel chorus swell ; 
And lo, the day had faded, 

And the stars came one by one, 
And under the silent heavens 

Stood the old tree, dark and lone! 



E PLURIBUS UNUM. 

GEORGE W. CUTTER. 

Though many and bright are the stars that appear 

In that flag by our country unfurled. 
And the stripes that are swelling in majesty there. 

Like a rainbow adorning the world, — 
Their light is unsullied as those in the sky, 

By a deed that our fathers have done. 
And they're linked in as true and as holy a tie, 

In their motto of" Many in One." 



A7id Successful Selections. 23 

From the hour those patriots fearlessly flung 

That banner of starlight abroad, 
Ever true to themselves, to that motto they clung 

As they clung to the promise of God. 
By the bayonet traced at the midnight of war. 

On the fields where our glory was won, 
Oh. ! perish the heart or the hand that would mar 

Our motto of" Many in One." 

'Mid the smoke of the conflict, the cannon's deep roar. 

How oft it has gathered renown! 
While those stars were reflected in rivers of gore, 

Where the cross and the lion went down ; 
And though few were their lights in the gloom of that 
hour. 

Yet the hearts that w^ere striking below 
Had God for their bulwark, and truth for their power. 

And they stopped not to number their foe. 

From where our green mountain-tops blend with the 
sky, 

And the giant Saint Lawrence is rolled, 
To the waves where the balmy Hesperides lie, 

Like the dream of some prophet of old. 
They conquered, and, dying, bequeathed to our care. 

Not this boundless dominion alone, 
Bnt that banner whose loveliness hallows the air. 

And their motto of'' Many in One." 

We are many in one, while there glitters a star 

In the blue of the heavens above. 
And tyrants shall quail, 'mid the dungeons afar, 

When they gaze on that motto of love. 



24 Practice of Speech 



It shall gleam o'er the sea, 'mid the bolts of the storm, 
Over tempest, and battle^ and wreck, — 

And flame where our guns with their thunder grow 
warm, 
'Neath the blood on the slippery deck. 

The oppressed of the earth to that standard shall fly. 

Wherever its folds shall be spread, 
And the exile shall feel 'tis his own native sky. 

Where its stars shall wave over his head ; 
And those stars shall increase till the fullness of time 

Its millions of cycles has run, — 
Till the world shall have welcomed their mission sublime. 

And the nations of earth shall be one. 

Though the old Alleghany may tower to heaven, 

And the Father of Waters divide, 
The links of our destiny cannot be riven 

While the truth of those words shall abide. 
Oh ! then, let them glow on each helmet and brand. 

Though our blood like our rivers should run ; 
Divide as we may in our own native land, 

To the rest of the world we are one. 

Then, up with our flag !■ — let it stream on the air ; 

Though our fathers are cold in their graves, 
They had hands that could strike, they had souls that 
could dare, 

And their sons are not born to be slaves. 
Up, up with that banner ! — where'er it may call. 

Our millions shall rally around, 
And a nation of freemen that moment shall fall. 

When its stars shall be trailed on the ground, 



Aiid Successful Selections. 25 

SHERIDAN'S RIDE. 

T. B. REED. 

Up from the South at break of day, 

Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay, 

The affrighted air with a shudder bore. 

Like a herald in haste, to the chieftain's door, 

The terrible grumble and rumble and roar, 

Telling the battle was on once more, 

And Sheridan — twenty miles away. 

And wider still those billows of war 

Thundered along the horizon's bar. 

And louder yet into Winchester rolled 

The roar of that red sea uncontrolled, 

Making the blood of the listener cold 

As he thought of the stake in that fiery fray, 

And Sheridan — twenty miles away. 

But there is a road from Winchester town, 

A good, broad highway leading down ; 

And there, through the flush of the morning light, 

A steed, as black as the steeds of night, 

Was seen to pass as with eagle flight — 

As if he knew the terrible need. 

He stretched away wath the utmost speed : 

Hills rose and fell — but his heart was gay, 

With Sheridan fifteen miles away. 

Still sprung from those swift hoofs, thundering South, 
The dust, like the smoke from the cannon's mouth. 
Or the trail of a comet sweeping faster and faster, 
Foreboding to foemen the doom of disaster ; 
The heart of the steed and the heart of the master 
Were beating like prisoners assaulting their walls, 
Impatient to be where the battle-field calls ; 



Practice of Speech 



Every nerve of the charger was strained to full play, 
With Sheridan only ten miles away. 

Under his spurning feet, the road 

Like an arrowy Alpine river flowed, 

And the landscape sped away behind, 

Like an ocean flying before the wind; 

And the steed, like a bark fed with furnace ire, 

Swept on with his wild eyes full of fire. 

But, lo ! he is nearing his heart's desire — 

He is snuffing the smoke of the roaring fray, 

With Sheridan only five miles away. 

The first that the General saw was the groups 

Of stragglers, and then the retreating troops ; — 

What was done — what to do — a glance told him both, 

Then striking his spurs with a terrible oath. 

He dashed down the line 'mid a storm of huzzahs. 

And the wave of retreat checked its course there because 

The sight of the master compelled it to pause. 

With foam and with dust the black charger was gray ; 

By the flash of his eye, and his red nostril's play, 

He seemed to the whole great army to say, 

' I have brought you Sheridan all the way 

From Winchester down to save the day ! " 

Hurrah, hurrah for Sheridan! 

Hurrah, hurrah for horse and man ! 

And when their statues are placed on high 

Under the dome of the Union sky, — 

The American soldier's Temple of Fame, — 

There, with the glorious General's name. 

Be it said in letters both bold and bright : 

'' Here is the steed that saved the day 

By carrying Sheridan into the fight 

From Winchester— twenty miles away ! " 



A)icl Successful Selections. 27 

LA FAYET rE. 

CHARLES SPRAGUE. 

While we bring our offerings to the mighty of 
our own land, shall we not remember the chivalrous 
spirits of other shores, who shared with them the 
hour of weakness and woe? Pile to the clouds the 
majestic columns of glory ; let the lips of those who 
can speak well hallow each spot where the bones of 
your bold repose ; but forget not those who with your 
bold went out to battle. 

Amoncr these men of noble darino- there was one, 
a young and gallant stranger, who left the blushing 
vine-hills of his dehghtful France. The people he 
came to succor were not his people; he knew them 
-only in the melancholy story of their wrongs. He 
was no mercenary adventurer, striving for the spoils 
of the vanquished ; the palace acknowledged him for 
its lord, and the valley yielded him its increase. He 
was no nameless man, staking hfe for reputation ; he 
ranked among nobles, and looked unawed upon kings. 

He was no friendless outcast, seekincr for a g-rave 
to hide a broken heart ; he was girdled by the com- 
panions of his childhood ; his kinsmen were about him ; 
his wife was before him. Yet from all these he 
turned away. Like a lofty tree that shakes down 
its green glories to battle with the winter's storm, 
he flung aside the trappings of place and pride to 
crusade for Freedom, in Freedom's holy land. He 
came ; but not in the day of successful rebellion ; not 
when the new-risen sun of Independence had burst the 
cloud of time, and careered to its place in the heavens. 

He came when darkness curtained the hills, and 
the tempest was abroad in its anger ; when the plow 



28 Practice of Speech 



stood still in the field of promise, and briers cumbered 
the -garden of beauty ; when fathers were dying, and 
mothers were weeping over them ; when the wife was 
binding up the gashed bosom of her husband, and the 
maiden was wiping the death-damp from the brow of 
her lover. He came when the brave began to fear the 
power of man, and the pious to doubt the favor of God. 
It was then that this one joined the ranks of a revolted 
people. 

Freedom's little phalanx bade him a grateful wel- 
come. With them he courted the battle's rage ; with 
theirs his arm was lifted; with theirs, his blood was 
shed. Long and doubtful was the conflict. At length, 
kind Heaven smiled on the good cause, and the beaten 
invaders fled. The profane were driven from the temple 
of Liberty, and at her pure shrine the pilgrim warrior 
with his adored Commander knelt and worshipped. 
Leaving there his offering, the incense of an uncorrupt- 
ed spirit, he at length rose and crowned with bene- 
dictions turned his happy feet toward his long-de- 
serted home. 

After nearly fifty years, that one has come again. 
Can mortal tpngue tell, can mortal heart feel the sub- 
limity of that coming ? Exulting millions rejoice in 
it; and their loud, long, transporting shout, like the 
mingling of many winds, rolls on^ undying, to free- 
dom's farthest mountains. A congregated nation 
comes around him. Old men bless him, and children 
reverence him. The lovely come out to look upon 
him ; the learned deck their halls to greet him ; the 
rulers of the land rise up to do him homage. 

How his full heart labors ! He views the rusting 
trophies of departed days ; he treads the high places 



And Siiccessful Selections. 29 



where his brethren moulder ; he bends before the tomb 
of his FATHER ; his words are tears, the speech of sad 
remembrance. But he looks around upon a ransomed 
land and a joyous race ; he beholds the blessings those 
trophies secured, for w^hich those brethren died, for 
which that father lived ; and again his words are 
tears, the eloquence of gratitude and joy. 

Spread forth creation like a map; bid earth's dead 
multitude revive ; and of all the pageant splendors 
that ever ghttered to the sun, when looked his burning 
eye on a sight like this ! Of all the myriads that have 
come and gone, what cherished minion ever ruled an 
hour like this ? Many have struck the redeeming 
blow for their owm freedom ; but who, like this man, 
has bared his bosom in the cause of strangers ? 
Others have lived in the love of their own people ; 
but who, like this man, has drunk his sweetest cup of 
welcome with another ! Matchless Chief! of glory's 
immortal tablets there is one for him, for him alone ! 
Oblivion shall never shroud its splendor ; the ever- 
lasting flame of liberty shall guard it, that the genera- 
tions of men may repeat the name recorded there, the 
beloved name of La Fayette. 



THE LAMENT OF ALPIN. 

ossian. 

My tears, O Ryno, are for the dead ; my voice for 
those that have passed away. Tall thou art on the 
hill ; fair among the sons of the vale. But thou shalt 
fall like Morar; the mourner shall sit on thy tomb. 
The hills shall know thee no more ; thy bow shall lie 
in thy hall, unstrung! 

Thou wert swift, O Morar ! as a roe on the desert; 



30 Practice of Speech 



terrible as a meteor of fire. Thy wrath was as the 
storm. Thy sword in battle, as lightning in the field. 
Thy voice was as a stream after rain ; like thunder on 
distant hills. Many fell by thy arm ; they were con- 
sumed in the flames of thy wrath. But when thou 
didst return from war, how peaceful was thy brow^ ! 
Thy face was like the sun after rain; like the moon in 
the silence of night ; calm as the breast of the lake 
when the loud wind is laid. 

Narrow is thy dwelling now ! dark the place of 
thine abode ! With three steps I compass thy grave, 
O thou who wast so great before. Four stones with 
their heads of moss are the only memorial of thee. 
A tree with scarce a leaf, long grass which whistles in 
the wind, mark to the hunter's eye the grave of the 
mighty Morar. Morar, thou art low indeed. Thou 
hast no mother to mourn thee ; no maid with her tears 
of love. Dead is she that brought thee forth. Fallen 
is the daughter of Morglan. 

Who on his staff is this? w^ho is this w4iose head 
is white wdth age ? w^hose eyes are red with tears ? who 
quakes at every step ? It is thy father, O Morar! the 
father of no son but thee. He heard of thy fame in 
war ; he heard of foes dispersed. He heard of Morar's 
renown ; why did he not hear of his wound ? Weep, 
thou father of Morar, weep ; but thy son heareth thee 
not. Deep is the sleep of the dead ; low their pillow of 
dust No more shall he hear thy voice; no more 
awake at thy call. When shall it be morn in the 
grave, to bid the slumberer aw^ake ? Farewell, thou 
bravest of men ! thou conqueror in the field ! but the 
field shall see thee no more ; nor the dark wood be 
lighted with the splendor of thy steel. Thou hast left 
no son. The song shall preserve thy name. Future 
times shall hear of thee; they shall hear of fallen Morar ! 



And Successful Selections, 31 



THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS. 

H. W. LONGFELLOW. 

Somewhat back from the village street 
Stands the old-fashioned country-seat ; 
Across its antique portico 
Tall poplar trees their shadows throw ; 
And, from its station in the hall, 
An ancient time-piece says to all, — 

"Forever — never ! 

Never — forever !" 
Half-way up the stairs it stands, 
And points and beckons with its hands. 
From its case of massive oak. 
Like a monk who, under his cloak. 
Crosses himself, and sighs, alas ! 
With sorrowful voice to all who pass, — 

''Forever — never ! 

Never — forever !" 
By day its voice is low and light ; 
But in the silent dead of night, 
Distinct as a passing footstep's fall, 
It echos along the vacant hall. 
Along the ceiling, along the floor. 
And seems to say at each chamber door, — 

"Forever — never ! 

Never — forever !" 

Through days of sorrow and of mirth. 
Through days of death and days of birth, 
Through every swift vicissitude 
Of changeful time, unchanged it stood, 
And as if, like God, it all things saw. 
It calmly repeats those words of awe, — 

"Forever — never ! 

Never — forever !" 



32 Practice of Speech 



In that mansion used to be 

Free-hearted Hospitality ; 

His great fires up the chimney roared ; 

The stranger feasted at his board ; 

But, Hke the skeleton at the feast, 

That warning time-piece never ceased, — 

"Forever — never ! 

Never — forever !" 

There groups of merry children played ; 

There youths and maidens dreaming strayed ; 

Oh, precious hours ! oh, golden prime, 

And affluence of love and time ! 

Even as a miser counts his gold, 

Those hours the ancient time-piece told, — 

"Forever — never ! 

Never — forever !" 

From that chamber, clothed in white. 
The bride came forth on her wedding night ; 
There, in that silent room below. 
The dead lay, in his shroud of snow ; 
And, in the hush that followed the prayer, 
Was heard the old clock on the stair, — 

"Forever — never ! 

Never — forever !" 

All are scattered, now, and fled, — 
Some are married, some are dead ; 
And when I ask, with throbs of pain, 
"Ah ! when shall they all meet again ?" 
As in the days long since gone by. 
The ancient time-piece makes reply,— 

"Forever — never ! 

Never — forever !" 



And Successful Selections. 



Never here, forever there, 
Where all parting, pain, and care, 
And death, and time, shall disappear,- 
Forever there, but never here! 
The horologe of Eternity 
Sayeth this incessantly, — 

'' Forever — never ! 

Never — forever ! " 



THE LEPER. 

N. P. WILLIS. 

Day was breaking, 
When at the altar of the temple stood 
The holy priest of God. The incense lamp 
Burned with a struggling light, and a low chant 
Swelled through the hollow arches of the roof, 
Like an articulate wail; and there, alone, 
Wasted to ghastly thinness, Helon knelt. 
The echoes of the melancholy strain 
Died in the distant aisles, and he rose up, 
Struggling with weakness, and bowed his head 
Unto the sprinkled ashes, and put off 
His costly raiment for the leper's garb. 
And with the sackcloth round him, and his lip 
Hid in the loathsome covering, stood stilly 
Waiting to hear his doom : — 

" Depart ! depart, O child 
Of Israel, from the temple of thy God ! 
For he has smote thee with his chastening rod, 

And to the desert wild, 
From all thou lov'st, away thy feet must flee, 
That from thy plague his people may be free. 



34 Practice of Speech 



''Depart ! and come not near 
The busy mart, the crowded city, more; 
Nor set thy foot a human threshold o'er; 

And stay thou not to hear 
Voices that call thee in the way ; and fly 
From all who in the wilderness pass by. 

''Wet not thy burning lip 
In streams that to a human dwelling glide ; 
Nor rest thee where the covert fountains hide ; 

Nor kneel thee down to dip 
The water where the pilgrim bends to drink, 
By desert well^ or river's grassy brink. 

"And pass not thou between 
The weary traveler and the cooling breeze ; 
And lie not down to sleep beneath the trees 

Where human tracks are seen ; 
Nor milk the goat that browseth on the plain ; 
Nor pluck the standing corn, or yellow grain. 

"And now depart ! and when 
Thy heart is heavy, and thine eyes are dim, 
Lift up thy prayer beseechingly to him 

Who, from the tribes of men, 
Selected thee to feel his chastening rod ; — 
Depart, O leper ! and forget not God." 

And he went forth alone. Not one of all 
The many whom he loved, nor she whose name 
Was woven in the fibres of the heart. 
Breaking within him now, to come and speak 
Comfort unto him. Yea, he went his way, — 
Sick, and heart-broken, and alone, — to die ! 
For God had cursed the leper. 



And Successful Selections. 35 

It was noon, 
And Melon knelt beside a stagnant pool 
In the lone wilderness, and bathed his brow, 
Hot with the burning leprosy, and touched 
The loathsome water to his fevered lips, 
Pravincr he mi^-ht be so blest, — to die ! 
Footsteps approached, and with no strength to flee 
He drew the covering closer on his lip. 
Crying, ''Unclean ! unclean !" and in the folds 
Of the coarse sackcloth shrouding up his face, 
He fell upon the earth till they should pass. 

Nearer the stranger came, and bending o'er 
The leper's prostrate form, pronounced his name, 
"Helon !" The voice was like the master-tone 
Of a rich instrument, — most strangely sweet ; 
And the dull pulses of disease awoke. 
And for a moment beat beneath the hot 
And leprous scales with a restoring thrill. 
"Helon, arise !" And he forgot his curse. 
And rose and stood before him. 

Love and awe 
Mingled in the regard of Helon's eye, 
As he beheld the Stranger. He was not 
In costly raiment clad, nor on his brow 
The symbol of a lofty lineage wore ; 
No followers at his back, nor in his hand 
Buckler, or sword, or spear; yet in his mien 
Command sat throned serene, and if he smiled, 
A kingly condescension graced his lips, 
The lion would have crouched to in his lair. 
His garb was simple, and his sandals worn ; 
His stature modeled with a perfect grace ; 
His countenance, the impress of a God 



36 Practice of Speech 



Touched with the open innocence of a child ; 

His eye was blue and calm, as is the sky 

In the serenest noon ; his hair, unshorn, 

Fell to his shoulders ; and his curling beard 

The fulness of perfected manhood bore. 

He looked on Helon earnestly awhile, 

As if his heart was moved ; and stooping down, 

He took a little water in his hand 

And laid it on his brow, and said, "Be clean !" 

And lo! the scales fell from him, and his blood 

Coursed with delicious coolness through his veins. 

And his dry palms grew moist, and on his brow 

The dewy softness of an infant stole. 

His leprosy was cleansed, and he fell dowm 

Prostrate at Jesus' feet, and worshipped Him. 



BRUTUS OVER THE DEAD LUCRETIA. 

J. H. PAYNE. 

Would you know why I summoned you together ? 

Ask ye what brings mc here ? Behold this dagger. 

Clotted with gore. Behold that frozen corse ! 

See where the lost Lucretia sleeps in death ! 

She was the mark and model of the time. 

The mould in which each female face was formed, 

The very shrine and sacristy of virtue. 

Fairer than ever was a form created 

By youthful fancy when the blood strays wild. 

And never-resting tho'ught is all on fire. 

The worthiest of the worthy ! Not the nymph 

Who met old Numa in his hallowed walks, 

And whispered in his ear her strains divine, 

Can I conceive beyond her. The young choir 

Of vestal virgins bent to her. 'Tis wonderful, 



A) id Successful Selections, 



Amid the darnel, hemlock, and base weeds, 
Which now spring rife from the luxurious compost 
Spread o'er the realm, how this sweet lily rose, — 
How, from the shade of those ill-neighboring plants, 
Her father sheltered her, tiiat not a leaf 
Was blighted, but, arrayed in purest grace. 
Bloomed in unsullied beauty, Such perfections 
Might have called back the torpid breast of age 
To long-forgotten rapture ; such a mind 
Might have abashed the boldest libertine, 
And turned desire to reverential love. 
And holiest affection. O my countrymen ! 
You all can witness when that she went forth 
It was a holiday in Rome ; old age 
Forgot its crutch, labor its task, — all ran, 
And mothers, turning to their daughters, cried 
"There, there's Lucretia !" Now, look ye, where she lies! 
That beauteous flower, that innocent sweet rose, 
Torn up by ruthless violence, — gone I gone! gone! 

Say, would you seek instruction? would ye ask 
What ye should do? Ask ye yon conscious walls. 
Which saw his poisoned brother, — 
Ask yon deserted street, where Tullia drove 
O'er her dead father's corse, — 'twill cn\ Reveng-e ! 
Ask yonder[senate-house, whose stones are purple 
With human blood, and it will cry, Revenge ! 
Go to the tomb where lies his murdered wife, 
And the poor queen, who loved him as her son, 
Their unappeased ghosts will shriek. Revenge ! 
The temples of the Gods, the all-viewing heavens. 
The Gods themselves shall justify the cry, 
And swell the creneral shout, Revenw ! Revenue ! 

And we will be revenged, my countrymen ! 



38 Practice of Speech 



Brutus shall lead you on ; Brutus, a name 

Which will, when you're revenged, be dearer to him 

Than all the noblest titles earth can boast. 

Brutus your king? No, fellow-citizens ! 
If mad ambition in this guilty frame 
Had strung one kingly fibre, — yea, but one, — 
By all the Gods, this dagger which I hold 
Should rip it out, though it entwined my heart. 

Now take the body up. Bear it before us 
To Tarquin's palace ; there we'll light our torches. 
And, in that blazing conflagration, rear 
A pile for these chaste relics, that shall send 
Her soul among the stars. On! Brutus leads you ; 
On to the Forum ! the fool shall set you free. 



THE BURIAL OF MOSES. 

C. F. ALEXANDER. 

"And he buried him in a valley in the land of Moat), over against Beth- 
peor; but no man knoweth of his sepulcher unto this day."~BEUT. 
XXXIV. 6. 

By Nebo's lonely mountain, 

On this side Jordan's wave, 
In a vale in the land of Moab, 

There lies a lonely grave ; 
But no man dug that sepulcher^ 

And no man saw it e er, 
For the angels of God upturned the sod, 

And laid the dead man there. 

That was the grandest funeral 

That ever passed on earth ; 
But no man heard the trampling, 

Or saw the train go forth ; 
Noiselessly as the daylight 

Comes when the night is done, 
And the crimson streak on ocean's cheek 

Grows into the great sun. — 



And Successful Selections. 39 

Noiselessly as the spring-time 

Her crown of verdure weaves, 
And all the trees on all the hills 

Open their thousand leaves, — 
So, without sound of music, 

Or \'oice of them that wept, 
Silently down from the mountain crown 

The great procession swept. 

Perchance the bald old eagle, 

On gray Beth-peor"s height. 
Out of his rocky eyrie. 

Looked on the wondrous sight. 
Perchance the lion, stalking, 

Still shuns the hallowed spot ; 
For beast and bird have seen and heard 

That which man knoweth not. 

Lo I when the warrior dieth, 

His comrades in the war, 
With arms reversed, and muffled drum, 

Follow the funeral car. 
They show the banners taken, 

They tell his battles won, 
And after him lead his masterless steed. 

While peals the minute gun. 

Amid the noblest of the land 

Men lay the sage to rest. 
And give the bard an honored place, 

With costly marble dressed, 
In the great minster transept, 

Where lights like glories fall. 
And the choir sings, and the organ rings 

Along the emblazoned wall. 



40 Practice of Speech 



This was the bravest warrior 

That ever buckled sword ; 
This the most gifted poet 

That ever breathed a word ; 
And never earth's philosopher 

Traced, with his golden pen, 
On the deathless page truths half so sage 

As he wrote down for men. 

And had he not high honor? 

The hill side for his pall : 
To lie in state while angels w^ait, 

With stars for tapers tall ; 
And the dark rock pines, like tossing plumes, 

Over his bier to wave ; 
And God's own hand, in that lonely land, 

To lay him in the grave? — 

In that deep grave, without a name, 

Whence his uncoffined clay 
Shall break again, — Oh wondrous thought ! — 

Before the judgment day ; 
And stand, with glory wrapped around, 

On the hills he never trod. 
And speak of the strife that won our life, 

With the incarnate Son of God ! 

O lonely tomb in Moab's land ! 

O dark Beth-peor's hill ! 
Speak to these curious hearts of our^, 

And teach them to be still. 
God hath his mysteries of grace, — 

Ways that we can not tell ; 
He hides them deep, like the secret sleep 

Of him he loved so well 



,1)1(7 Successful Selections. 41 

THE OCTOROON. 

[The first part of thi? selection I found in an old volume of poems, 
by Carleton— not the well-known Mr. Will Carleton— the latter part is 
mj' own composition. I have also taken the liberty to change the first 
part somewhat.— B. W. King.] 

In the palmy days of slavery, 

A score of years ago, 
A pretty, dark-skinned Octoroon 

Was singing soft and low 
A song to please her baby 

As in her arms it lay, 
A daint}', dimpled, fair-haired boy — 

A twelve-month old that day. 

Strange home for child or mother ! 

For her quick ear often heard, 
'Mid the clink of dice and glasses, 

Many a loud and angry word. 
For her Philip was a gambler ; 

But she never dreamed or thought 
Of any shame or sorrow^ 

For the wrongs he might have wrought. 

" He plays ' seven-up ' 'till midnight," 

She often laughing told, 
"And then, like other gentlemen, 

Comes home and counts his gold." 

So she was always happy, 

Singing French songs, sw^eet and wdld. 
With a voice as full of music 

As the lauo^hter of a child. 
But, one midnight, she was waiting 

For his footstep on the stair. 
Came a sound of measured meaning 

Throbbing: on the silent air ! 



42 Practice of Speech 



Came a sound of troubled voices, 

Filling all her soul with dread — 
Comrades, bearing up a burden, 

Cold and lifeless! Phil was dead ! 
Like a sudden blow, it smote her 

With a desolate sense of grief. 
But no faintness came to shield her, 

And no tears to bring relief 

Oh, to escape the heart-ache, 

And the dumb, bewildering pain, 
How^ gladly would she fall asleep 

And never wake again ! 
Yet, she watched with heart near breaking 

As they bore his form away ; 
Then she listened to the prosing 

Of two lawyers, old and gray. 

As they talked of debts of honor, 

Of the house, and horses fine. 
Of plate, perhaps, and jewels ; 

Of furniture and wane; 
Then ! Ah. then, what was the meaning 

Of the words they muttered o'er ? 
As they said : '' The wench and baby 

Ought to bring a thousand more ! " 

Quickened ear and comprehension 

Caught each careless tone and word ; 
Knew too w^ell the tricks of trade 

To doubt the fearful truth she heard. 
But when they so roughly told her : 

'' There will be a sale to-morrow ! " 
Her voice broke forth in piteous wail 

Of bitterness md sorrow:—^ 



Aiid Successful Selections. 43 

'' O, I know Phil never meant 

For me and baby to be sold ! 
Why, I'se been his little woman 

Since I'se only twelve years old ! 
He won me from the Captain, 

Playing '' seven-up " one night, 
And he's told me more'n a thousand times 

He's sure to make it right. 

'' The Captain was my father, 

Captain Winslow, of Bellair, ' 

And you can't sell me and baby — 

O you can't ! You never dare ! " 
And those men, so used to suffering, 

And callous as they were, 
Looked in each other's faces 

And paused to pity her. 

But " many a case was just as bad, 

And some perhaps were worse ; 
They could do nothing, anyhow. 

The law must take its course." 
The broken-hearted mother 

Tried in vain to sleep that night. 
Her busy brain would conjure up 

Some possible means of flight. 

Well she knew she was a prisoner, 

That the house was thronged with men ; 
Knew, too, that for years this place 

Had been a noted gambler's den, 
And a long, low^ vaulted chamber 

Ran beneath the basement floor, 
Opening far beyond detection, 

{|i a he^vy, hidden door, 



44 Practice of Speech 

She shuddered with a vision 

Of the bloodhounds on her track, 

As she thought how deadly certain 
They would be to bring her back ! 

O, she could not, could not bear it! 

She would kill herself and him ! 
Then, across her 'wildered memory 

Stole a vision, faint and dim, 
Of some reverent childish teaching, 

Prayer to God, and faith and fear — 
*• Lead us not into temptation !" 

Was He listening ? Did He hear ? 

Then she thought of old Aunt Dinah, 
Who had taught her thus to pray. 

Living free in Oppoloosa, 
Haifa score of miles away. 

And at last, she rose, determined 

That the danger should be braved ; 
Though her life might pay the forfeit, 

Little Philip should be saved ! 
So she wrapped her sleeping treasure 

In a mantle dark and thin, 
Tied a gaudy-hued bandana 

'Neath her smoothly-rounded chin, 

Planned her flight to escape detection, 

And removing every trace. 
With the subtle, stealthy movement 

Of a leopard, left the place. 
And she paused not in her journey, — 

Life or death still lay before ! 
'Till she struggled, worn and weary, 

To Aunt Dinah's cabin door. 



And Successful Selections. 45 

Hush! a voice of prayer and pleading 

On the midnight cahn is heard : — 
"Teach us, Lord, through all our blindness 

To believe Thy precious word. 
Help us when our hearts are heavy; 

Guide us when we go astray ; 
Lead us in the paths we know not, 

Nearer to Thee, day by day." 

With her spirit vision opened 

By some unseen inner sight 
Old Aunt Dinah had arisen 

And was praying in the night. 
In her strong, black arms she gathered 

Weary mother, wondering child ; 
And she Hstened to their story 

Full of anguish, fierce and wild. 

Knowing well she could not save them. 

That her love though strong and bright. 
Was as chaff before the w^hirlwind 

Of the white man's power and might. 
" I would give my poor old heart's blood, 

Every drop for yours and you. 
If I could but keep you, honey. 

From this path you're walking through. 

'' But, I've seen it all too often ; 

They will hunt you if you hide, 
They will catch you if you're fleeing. 

They wall take you from my side ; 
And they'll take your baby from you, 

Stop ! De Lord's own voice I hear , 
Will you trust your precious darling 

To my care and leave him here ? 



46 Practice of Speech 



** I will keep him from all danger ; 

Hide him where no eye can see ; 
And 'twill be a comfort, deary, 

If you always know he's free. 
Don't look so ; give me the baby ; 

Yes, I know how hard it is, 
But we do the Father's bidding, 

Not in our way^ but in His. 

'' I will pray for you to-morrow ; 

Now, the moon is going down, 
You must take my little donkey, 

Child, and hurry back to town. 
Ride him just as far's you dare to, 

Then tie up the bridle rein. 
Turn his head, and he's done sartain 

To come right straight home again !" 

When next morning she was summoned 

From her room, she walked alone; 
Though her fierce, brown eyes burned darkly, 

They were tearless, dry as stone. 
And the lawyers and the keepers 

Looked at her and shrank away, 
Minded by her wondrous beauty 

Of a tigress turned at bay. 

But a query ran among them, — 

Of the baby — where was he ? 
'Till she heard their words and answered 

Very calmly — '' He is free !" 
'^ Free ! The house was strongly guarded. 

Every window, every door ; 
They had seen both child and mother 

Safely caged the night before ! 



And Successful Selections. 



*'Not a living thing had ventured 

O'er the threshold that the\^ knew ; 
And the hounds with hungry voices 

Bayed outside the whole night through." 
Instant search sufficed to show them 

That the baby was not there ; 
Not a hint, or trace, or sign 

Could thev discover anvwhere. 



Then, wath threatening look and gesture 
To the mother they returned, 

But she said, in words triumphant, 

While her eyes more brightly burned :- 

" Strike me ! Minions ! I expect it ! 

Scourge me! burn me! beat or kill! 
But it will not help you find him, 

He is FREE ! my darling Phil I 
Think you, I would fear to hide him 

In the darkness of the grave ? 
Ah, my baby's father's baby 

Was not born to be a slave I" 

So, with furtive eyes they watched her, 

Talking low 'mid fear and fright, 
Half afraid 'mid their bravado, 

She would vanish from their sight. 
But she stood as stands the martyr 

When his last frail hope dies out, 
And the murmuring sea of voices 

Rises to an angry shout. 



48 Practice of Speech 



And she thought not of her beauty 

As her heart beat fast and faster, 
Gazing on those stranger faces, 

Wondering which would be her master. 
But, the horrid truth awoke her, — 

''Going! going! gone!" It told 
That beyond all hope or dreaming, 

She was sold, — to slavery sold ! 

Then, as if the soul within her 

Larger grew with pain and strife, 
Or, as if some marble statue 

Started forth, a thing of life, 
Turned she, and with footsteps silent 

As a specter of the dead, 
From their midst she swiftly fled. 

Ere a hand could lift to stay her 

On — to where the lofty margin 

Overlooks the river's flood. 
There she paused and turned in triumph 

As upon its brink she stood: — 
'' Cowards ! Do you dare to follow 

To yon gulf, to find your slave ? 
Think you that I fear to render 

Back to God the life He gave ! 

'' Let Him in his righteous judgment 

Weigh the guilt 'twixt you and me ; 
Let Him guard my boy and keep him 

When his mother, too, is free! 
Back ! you have nb power to stay me ! 

Stop ! I would not hear you lie. 
Back ! I laugh at you, my masters ! 

Free I lived! and free I die!" 



And Successful Selections. 49 

Turning with a look of triumph 

And a smile of proud disdain, 
Sprang she forth into the river, 

Sank, and rose — and sank again. 
Onward swept the mighty river 

On its journey to the sea; 
But the mother's woes were ended — 

Child and mother both were free. 



ROCK ME TO SLEEP. 
Backward, turn backward, O Time ! in your flight; 
Make me a child again just for to-night! 
Mother, come back from that echoless shore, 
Take me again to your heart as of yore ; 
Kiss from my forehead the furrows of care. 
Smooth the few silver threads out of my hair ; 
Ov'Cr my slumbers your loving watch keep ; — 
Rock me to sleep, mother,- — rock me to sleep ! 

Backward, flow backward, O tide of the years ! 
I am so weary of toil and of tears, — 
Toil without recompense, tears all in vain, — 
Take them, and give me my childhood again ! 
I have grown weary of dust and decay, — 
Weary of flinging my soul-wealth away ; 
Weary of sewing for others to reap ; — 
Rock me to sleep, mother, — rock me to sleep ! 

Tired of the hollow, the false, the untrue ! 
Mother, O mother, my heart calls for you ! 
Many a summer the grass has grown green, 
Blossomed and faded our faces between; 
Yet with strong yearning and passionate pain, 
Long I to-night for your presence again. 
Come from the silence so long and so deep; — 
Rock me to sleep, mother, — rock me to sleep ! 



50 Practice of Speech 



Come, let your brown hair, just lighted with gold, 
Fall on your shoulders again as of old; 
Let it drop over my forehead to-night, 
Shading my faint eyes away from the light ; 
For with its sunny-edged shadows once more 
Haply will throng the sweet visions of yore ; 
Lovingly, softly, its bright billows sw^eep ; 
Rock me to sleep, mother, — rock me to sleep ! 

Mother, dear mother, the years have been long 
Since I last listened to your lullaby song : 
Sing, then, and unto my soul it shall seem 
Womanhood's years have been only a dream. 
Clasped to your heart in a loving embrace. 
With your light lashes just sweeping my face, 
Never hereafter to wake or to weep ; 
Rock me to sleep, mother, — rock me to sleep ! 



MY MOTHER'S SONG. 

BYRON W. KING. 

'Mid the far-off hills, by a lowly cot, 
Bloom the rose, the vine, the forget-me-not. 
And there where zephyrs blow soft and sweet. 
Where hearts are the truest of hearts that beat, 
I have heard in the fading twilight glow, 
The song of my Mother, sweet, sad and low. 

Years, years have gone, but I hear it still, 
And it wakes my heart with its magic thrill, 
I hear that song with its cadence of tears 
Over all the whirl of the troubled years : 
O'er the toil and strife of the hurrying throng. 
Come the echoing words of my Mother's song. 



And Successful Selections. 51 

I know as she sings it, day after day, 

Her locks are fast turning to silvery gray; 

The form is more bending, the hand is more weak, 

And trembhng and low are the tones that speak ; 

She is failing fast, thro' suffering long, 

But never more sweet was my Mother's song. 

I know that a message must some day come 
To call me a^ain to that cottas^e home. 
And there in the close of the crimson da}' 
I shall find that sweet voice hushed for aye ! 
And kneeling low in the fading light, 
I shall kiss the lips one last good night ! 

But thro' all years my heart shall beat; 
As I tread life's path with m\' weary feet, 
I shall hear that song as a voice divine, 
And that lowly cot shall become a shrine ! 
O'er all life's sorrow and strife and wrong, 
I shall hear the words of my Mother's song ! 



LARIAT BILL.— THE ENGINEER'S STORY. 

PUCK. 

" Well, stranger, 'twas somewhere in 'sixty-nine, 

I were runnin' the 'Frisco fast express ; 
An' from Murder Creek to Blasted Pine, 

Were nigh onto eighteen mile, I guess. 
The road were a down-grade all the way. 

An' we pulled out of Murder a little late, 
So I opened the throttle wide that day. 

And a mile a minute were 'bout our gait. 



Practice of Speech 



''My fireman's name were Lariat Bill, 

A quiet man with an easy way, 
Who could rope a steer w^th a cow-boy's skill, 

Which he'd learned in Texas, I've heard him say; 
The coil were strong as tempered steel, 

An' it went like a bolt from cross-bow flung. 
An' arter Bill changed fi:-om saddle to wheel^ 

Just over his head in the cab it hung. 

*' Well, as I were sayin', we fairly flew 

As we struck the curve at Buffalo Spring, 
An' I give her full steam an' put her through. 

An' the engine rocked like a livin' thing ; 
When all of a sudden I got a scare — 

For thar on the track w^ere a little child ! 
An' right in the path of the engine there. 

She held out her little hands and smiled ! 

'T jerked the lever and whistled for brakes, 

The wheels threw sparks like a shower of gold ; 
But I knew the trouble a down-grade makes. 

An' I set my teeth, an' my flesh grew cold. 
Then Lariat Bill yanked his long lassoo, 

An' out on the front of the engine crept — 
He balanced a moment before he threw. 

Then out in the air his lariat swept!" 

He paused. There were tears in his honest eyes ; 

The stranger hstened with bated breath — 
*T know the rest of the tale," he cries : 

"He snatched the child from the jaws of death ! 
'Twas the deed of a hero — from heroes bred — 

Whose praises the very angels sing !" 
The engineer shook his grizzled head, 

And growled: ''He didn't do no sich thing." 



And Successful Selectwns. 



''He aimed for the stump of a big pine-tree, 

An' the lariat caught with a double hitch, 
An' in less'n a second the train an' we 

Were yanked off the track an' inter the ditch ! 
'Twere an awful smash^ an' it laid me out, 

I ain't forgot it an' never shall; 
'Were the passengers hurt?' Lemme see — about- 

Yes, it killed about forty — but saved the gal !" 



THE GUARDIAN ANGEL. 

BY JULIA MILLS DUXX. 

The summer skies bend soft and blue, 
The air is sweet with wild brook's laughter, 

And over the orchard's grassy slope 
Swift shadows are chasing each other after. 

A youth and maiden, side by side — 
A bashful girl and her rustic lover — 

Stand by the turnstile old and brown 
That leads to the field of blossoming clover. 

She with a milk-pail on her arm, 
Turns aside, her young cheeks glowing. 

And hears down the lane the slow, dull tread 
Of the drove of cows that are homeward going. 

''Bessie," he said; at the sound she turned, 
Her blue eyes full of childish wonder ; 

" My mother is feeble, and lame, and old — 
I need a wafe at the farm-house yonder. 

. My heart is lonely, my home is drear, 
I need your presence ever near me ; 

Will you be my guardian angel, dear; 
Queen of my household, to guide and cheer me? " 



54 Practice of Speech 



" It has a pleasant sound," she said, 
** A household queen, a guiding spirit ! 

But I am only a simple child, — 
So my mother says in her daily chiding, — 

And what must a guardian angel do 
When she first begins her work of guiding ? " 

'' Well, first, dear Bessie, a smiling face 
Is dearer far than the rarest beauty ; 

And my mother, fretful, lame and old. 
Will require a daughter's loving duty. 

You will see to her flannels^ drops and tea, 
And talk with her of her lungs and liver ; 

Give her your cheerful service, dear, — 
The Lord he loveth a cheerful giver. 

''You will read me at evening the daily news, 
The tedious winter nights beguiling ; 

And never forget that the sweetest face 
Is the cheerful face that is always smiling. 

In short, you'll arrange in a general way 
For a sort of sublunary heaven ; 

For home, dear Bessie, say what we may. 
Is the highest sphere to a woman given." 

The lark sang out to the bending sky. 
The bobolink piped in the rushes. 

And out of the tossing clover blooms 
Came the clear, sweet song of the meadow thrushes. 

And l^essie, listening, paused awhile, 
Then said, with a sly glance at her neighbor, — 

'' But John — ^do you mean — that is to say, 
What shall I get for all this l^bor ? '' 



Aiul Successful Selections. 55 



" What will you get ? "John gasped, and sighed : — 
"So young and yet so mercenary ; 

So artless, and yet so worldly wise — 
And this is the girl I thought to marry." 

But Bessie laughed, " I'm a simple child, 
So my mother says, wuth much vain sighing ; 

But it seems to me, of all hard tasks, 
A guardian angel's is most trying. 

'' To be nurse, companion, and servant girl, 
To make home's altar-fire burn brightly ; 

To wash and iron and scrub and cook. 
And always be cheerful, neat and sprightly ; 

To give up liberty, home and friends; 
Nay, even the name of a mother's giving ; 

To do all this for one's board and clothes ; 
Why, the life of an angel isn't worth living ! 

^'Suppose you choose, John, some other man, 
Who shall rule your coming and your going; 

Who shall choose your home, prescribe your work, 
Your pay, and the time of its bestowing ; 

Who shall own the very clothes you wear, 
And your children, if an}^ the good Lord gives, 

For a third of wJhat he may possibly earn, 
When he dies, and nothing at all if he lives ! 

''Just think of it, John ! " But John looked down 
And groaned w^ith a sigh of deep regret: — 

" To seem so simple, and be so deep — 
Great Caesar ! To marry for w^iat she can get ! 

The clover may blossom, and ripen and fade. 
And golden summers may wax and w^ane, 

.But I'll trust no more to an artless smile. 

And I'll never propose to a girl agairir" 



56 Practice of Speech 



And Bessie gayly went her way 
Down through the fields of scented clover, 

But never again since that summer day 
Has she won a glance from her rustic lover; 

The lark sings out to the bending sky, 
The clouds sail on as white as ever; 

The clovers toss in the summer wind, 
But Bessie has lost that chance for ever. 

MORAL. 

Young man, be advised, when you've chosen your 
bride. 
Don't be too explicit until the knot's tied. 

You are safer by far — no matter how rich — 
To talk only of ^'angels" and ''altars" and "sich." 

Young woman! I'll tell you, on sober reflection, 
There are things that won't bear too close inspection; 

And the most fitting dress for a young bride to 
wear, 
Is the robe of ''illusion," preserved with great care! 



FASHIONABLE SCHOOL GIRL. 
A few months ago the daughter of a Rockland 
man, who had grown comfortably well-off in the small 
grocery line, was sent away to a "female college," and 
last week she arrived home for the holiday vacation. 
The old man was in attendance at the depot when the 
train arrived, with the old horse and delivery wagon, 
to convey his daughter and her trunk to the house. 
When the train had stopped, a bewitching array of 
dry goods and a wide-brimmed hat dashed from the 
car, and flung itself into the elderly party's arms. ^ 



And Successful Select wns. 57 

*^Why, you superlatively Pa ! I'm ever so utterly 
glad to see you." 

The old man was somewhat unnerved by the 
greeting, but he recognized the sealskin cloak in his 
grip as the identical piece of property he had paid for 
with the bay mare, and he sort of gathered it up in his 
arms, and planted a kiss where it would do the most 
good, with a report that sounded above the noise of 
the depot. In a brief space of time the trunk and its 
attendant baggage were loaded into the wagon, which 
was soon bumping over the hobbles towards home. 

'Ta, dear," surveying the team with a critical eye, 
"do you consider this quite excessively beyond ?" 

''Hey ? quite excessively beyond what ? Beyond 
Warren ? I consider it somewhat about ten miles be- 
yond Warren, if that's what you mean. 

''Oh, no, pa; you don't understand me; I mean 
this wagon and horse. Do you think they are soul- 
ful ? — do you think they could be studied apart in the 
light of a symphony, or even a simple poem, and 
appear as intensely utter to one on returning home as 
one could express ?" 

The old man twisted uneasily in his seat and 
muttered something about he believed it used to be 
used for an express before he bought it to deliver 
pork in; but the conversation appeared to be traveling 
in a lonesome direction, and the severe jolting over 
the frozen ground prevented further remarks. 

"Oh, there is that lovely and consummate Ma!" 
and presently she was lost in the embrace of a 
motherly woman in spectacles. 

"Well, Maria," said the old man at the supper 
table, "an' how^'d you like your school ?" 



58 Practice of Speech 



''Well there, Papa, now you're shou — I mean I 
consider it far too beyond. It is unquenchably inef- 
fable. The girls are so sumptuously stunning — I mean 
grand — so exquisite — so intense! And then the 
parties, the balls, the rides — oh, the past weeks have 
been one sublime harmony." 

''I s'pose so — I s'pose so," nervously assented the 
old man as he reached for his third cup, half full — 
*'but how about your books — readin', writin', grammar, 
rule o' three — how about them ?" 

'Ta ! don't. The rule of three ! Grammar ! It is 
French and music and painting and the divine art that 
have made my school life the boss — I mean that have 
rendered it one unbroken flow of rhythmic bliss — 
incomparably and exquisitely all but !" 

The grocery man and his wife looked helplessly 
at each other across the table. After a lonesome 
pause the old lady said: 

''How do you like the biscuits, Maria ? " 

"They are too utter for anything, and this plum 
preserve is simply a poem itself?" 

The old man rose abruptly from the table, and 
went out of the room, rubbing his head in a dazed and 
benumbed manner, and the mass convention was dis- 
solved. That night he and his wife sat alone by the 
stove until a late hour, and at the breakfast table the 
next morning, he rapped smartly on the plate with the 
handle of his knife, and remarked : — 

"Maria! me an' your mother have been talkin the 
thing over, an' we've come to the conclusion that this 
boardin' school business is too utterly all but too much 
nonsense. Me an' her consider that we haven't lived 
sixty consummate years for the purpose of raisin' a 
curiosity, an' there's goin to be a stop put to this 



And Successful Selections. 59 

unquenchable foolishness. Now after you've finished 
eatin' that poem of fried sausage an' that symphony of 
twisted doughnut, you take an' dust up stairs in less'n 
two seconds, an' peel off that fancy dress-gow^n and 
put on a caliker, an' then come down an' help your 
mother wash dishes. I w^ant it distinctly understood 
that ther ain't goin' to be no more rhythmic foolish- 
ness in this house, so long's your superlative Pa an' 
Ma's runnin' the ranch. You hear me, Maria ?" 
Maria was listening. 



OLD CHUMS. 

ALICE CAREY. 

Is it you, Jack ? Old boy, is it really you ? 

I shouldn't have knowm you but that I w^as told 
You might be expected; — pray, how do you do ? 

But w^hat under heaven has made you so old ? 

Your hair! why, you've only a little gray fuzz ! 

And your beard's, white! but that can be beautifully 
dyed ; 
And your legs aren't but just half as long as they was; 

And then — stars and garters ! your vest is so wade ! 

Is this your hand ! Well ! how I envied you that 
In the time of our courting, — so soft, and so small ! 

And now it is callous inside, and so fat, — 
Well, you beat the very old deuce, that is all. 

Turn 'round ! let me look at you ! isn't it odd 

How^ strange in a few years a fellow^'s chum grow^s ! 

Your eye is shrunk up like a bean in a pod. 

And what are these lines branching out from your 
nose? 



60 Practice of Speech 



Your back has gone up and your shoulders gone down, 
And all the old roses are under the plough : 

Why, Jack, if we'd happened to meet about town, 
I wouldn't have known you from Adam, I vow ! 

You've had trouble, have you ? I'm sorry; but, John, 
All trouble sits lightly at your time of life. 

How's Billy, my namesake ? You don't say he's gone 
To the war, John, and that you have buried your 
wife. 

Poor Katherine ! so she has left you, — ah rne ! 

I thought she would live to be fifty, or more. 
What is it you tell me ? She was fifty-three ! 

no, Jack ! she wasn't so much by a score ! 

<0 

Well, there's little Katy, — was that her name, John ? 

She'll rule your house one of these days like a queen. 
That baby ! Great Scott ! is she married and gone ? 

With a Jack ten years old ! and a Katy fourteen ! 

Then I give it up ! Why, you're younger than I 

By ten or twelve years, and to think you've come 
back 
A sober old graybeard, just ready to die ! 

1 don't understand how it is, — do you Jack ? 

I've got all my faculties yet, sound and bright ! 

Slight failure my eyes are beginning to hint; 
But still, with my spectacles on, and a light 

'Twixt them and the page, I can read any print. 

My hearing is dull, and my leg is more spare. 
Perhaps, than it was when I beat you at ball; 

My breath gives out, too, if I go up a stair, — 
But nothing worth mentioning^ nothing at all ! 



And Successful Selections. (H 



My hair is just turning a little, you see, 

And lately I've put on a broader-brimmed hat 

Than I wore at your wedding, but you will agree, 
Old fellow, I look all the better for that. 

I'm sometimes a little rheumatic, 'tis true, 

And my nose isn't quite on a straight Hne. they say; 

For all that, I don't think I've changed much, do you ? 
And I don't feel a day older. Jack, not a day! 



LABOR. 

THOMAS CARLYLE. 

Two men I honor, and no third. First, the toil- 
worn craftsman that w^ith earth-made implement 
laboriously conquers the earth and makes her man's. 
Venerable to me is the hand, hard and coarse, where- 
in notwithstanding lies a cunning virtue, indefeasibly 
royal, as of this planet. Venerable, too, is the rugged 
face all weather-tanned, besoiled, with his rude intelli- 
gence ; for it is the face of a man living man-like. Oh, 
but the more venerable for thy rudeness, and even 
because we must pity as well as love thee ! Hardly 
entreated brother ! for us was thy back so bent, for 
us w^ere thy straight limbs and fingers so derfomed; 
thou wert our conscript on whom the lot fell, and 
fighting our battles wert so marred. For in thee, too, 
lay a God-created form, but it was not to be unfolded; 
encrusted must it stand with the thick adhesions and 
defacements of labor ; and thy body, like thy soul, was 
not to know freedom. Yet, toil on, toil on: thou art 
in thy duty, be out of it who may; thou toilest for the 
altogether indispensable daily bread. 

A second man I honor, and still more highly, 



62 Practice of Speech 

him who is seen toiling for the spiritually indispensable, 
not daily bread, but the bread of life. Is not he, too^ 
in his duty; endeavoring towards inward harmony; 
revealing this, by act or by word, through all his 
outward endeavors, be they high or low? Highest 
of all when his outward and his inward endeavors 
are one: when we can name him artist; not earthly 
craftsman only, but inspired thinker, who with heaven- 
made implement conquers heaven for us ! If the poor 
and humble toil that we have food, must not the high 
and glorious toil for him in return that he may have 
light, guidance, freedom, immortality? These two, 
in all their degrees, I honor; all else is chaff and dust, 
which let the wind blow whither it listeth. 

There is a perennial nobleness, and even sacred- 
ness, in work. Were he ever so benighted, or forget- 
ful of his high calling, there is always hope in a man 
that actually and earnestly works; in idleness alone 
there is perpetual despair. Consider how, even in the 
meanest sort of labor, the whole soul of a man is 
composed into real harmony. He bends himself with 
free valor against his task ; and doubt, desire, sorrow, 
remorse, indignation, despair itself, shrink murm.uring 
far off in their caves. The glow of labor in him is a 
purifying fire, wherein all poison is burnt up; and of 
smoke itself, there is made a bright and blessed flame. 

Blessed is he who has found his work ; let him 
ask no other blessedness; he has a life purpose. 
Labor is life. From the heart of the worker rises the 
celestial force, breathed into him by Almighty God, 
awakening him to all nobleness, to all knowledge. 
Hast thou valued patience, courage, openness to light, 
or readiness to own thy mistakes? In wrestling with 
the dim brute powers of fact, thou wilt continually 



And Successful Selections, (58 

learn. For every noble work the possibilities are 
diffused through immensity, undiscoverable, except to 
faith. Man, Son of heaven ! is there not in thine 
inmost heart a spirit of active method, giving thee no 
rest till thou unfold it ? Complain not. Look up, 
wearied brother. See thy fellow-workmen surviving 
throucrh eternit\\ the sacred band of immortals. 



CONNOR. 



To the 
Memory of Patrick Connor, 
tbis Simple «tone was Erected by his 
Fellow Working-men. 

These words you may read any day upon a white 
slab in a cemetery not many miles from New York ; 
but you might read them a hundred times without 
guessing at the little tragedy they indicate, without 
knowing the humble romance wdiich ended w^ith the 
placing of that stone above the dust of one poor 
humble man. 

In his shabby, frieze jacket and mud-laden brogans, 
he was scarcely an attractive object as he walked into 
Mr. Bawne's great tin and hardware shop one day and 
presented himself at the counter with an — 

''I've been tould ye advertised for hands, yer 
honor." 

"Fully supplied, my man," said Mr. Bawne, not 
lifting his head from his account book. 

"I'd work faithfully, sir, and take low wages, till I 
could do better, and I'd learn, — I would that." 

It was an Irish brogue, and Mr. Bawne always 
declared that he never would employ an incompetent 
hand. 



64 Practice of Speech 



Yet the tone attracted him. He turned briskly, 
and addressed the man. 

'*What makes you expect to learn faster than other 
folks, are you any smarter ?" 

^TU not say that; but I'd be wishing to; and that 
would make it aisier." 

'*Are you used to the work ?" 

'Tve done a bit of it." 

^^Much ?" 

*'No, yer honor, I'll tell no lie. Tim O'Toole 
hadn't the like of this place; but I know a bit about 
tins." 

''You are too old for an apprentice, and you'd be 
in the way, I calculate ; besides I know your country- 
men, — lazy, good-for-nothing fellows who never do 
their best. No, I've been taken in by Irish hands be- 
fore, and I won't have another." 

''The Virgin will have to be after bringing them 
over to me in her two arms, thin," said the man 
despairingly, "for I've tramped all the day for the last 
fortnight, and niver a job can I get, and that's the last 
penny I have, yer honor, and it's but a half one." 

As he spoke he spread his palm open, with an 
English half-penny in it. 

"Bring whom over ?" asked Mr. Bawne. 

"Jist Nora and Jamesy." 

"Who are they?" 

'^The won's me wife, the other me child." O 
masther, jist try me ! How'll I bring 'em over to me, 
if no one will give me a job? I want to be aiming, 
and the whole big city seems against it, and me with 
arms like them." 

He bared his arms to the shoulder as he spoke. 

"I'll hire you for a week, and now, as it's noon, go 



And Successful Selections. 65 

• 

down to the kitchen and tell the girl to get you some 
dinner, — a hungry man can't work." 

With an Irish blessing, the new hand obeyed, 
w^hile Mr. Bawne went up stairs to his own meal. 
Suspicious as he was of his new hand's integrity and 
ability, he was agreeably disappointed. Connor 
worked hard, and actually learned fast. At the end of 
the week he was engaged permanently, and soon w^as 
the best workman in the shop. 

He was a great talker, but not fond of drink or 
\vasting money. As his wages grew, he hoarded every 
penny, and wore the same shabby clothes in w^hich he 
had made his first appearance. 

''Beer costs money/' he said one day, "and ivery 
cint I spind puts off the bringing Nora and Jamesy 
over; and as for clothes, them I have must do me- 
Better no coat to my back than no wife and boy by 
my fireside; and anyhow, it's slow work saving." 

It was slow w^ork, but he kept at it all the same. 
Other men, thoughtless and full of fun, tried to make 
him drink; made a jest of his saving habits. 

All in vain. Connor liked beer, liked fun, liked 
companionship; but he would not delay that long- 
looked-for bringing of Nora over, and was not "mane 
enough" to accept favors of others. He kept his ww, 
a martyr to his one great wash, living on little, work- 
ing at night on any extra job that he could earn a few 
shillings, running errands in his noon-tide hours of 
rest, and talking to any one who would listen to him 
of his one great hope, of Nora and of little Jamesy. 

At first the men who prided themselves on being 
all Americans, and on turning out the best w^ork in the 
city, made a sort of butt of Connor, whose 'Svild 
Irish" ways were often laughable. But he w^on their 



66 Practice of Speech 

hearts at last, and when one day, mounting a work- 
bench, he shook his Httle bundle^ wrapped in a red 
kerchief, before their eyes, and shouted : ''Look, boys; 
I've got the whole at last ! I've got the whole at last ! 
I'm going to bring Nora and Jamesy over at last ! 
Whoroo! I've got it!" all felt sympathy in his joy, 
and each grasped his great hand in cordial congratu- 
lations, and one proposed to treat all round, and drink 
a good voyage to Nora. 

They parted in a merry mood, most of the men 
going to comfortable homes. But poor Connor's 
resting-place was a dark lodging-house, where he 
shared a crazy garret with four other men. In the joy 
of his heart the poor fellow exhibited his handker- 
chief, with his hard-earned savings tied up in a wad in 
the middle, before he put it under his pillow and fell 
asleep. 

When he awakened in the morning, he found his 
treasure gone; some villian, more contemptible than 
most bad men, had robbed him. 

At first Connor could not believe it lost. He 
searched every corner of the room, shook his quilt 
and blankets, and begged those about him to ''quit 
joking, and give it back." 

But at last he realized the truth. — 
'Ts any man that bad that it's thaved from me ?" 
he asked, in a breathless way. "Boys, is any man that 
bad ?" And some one answered: "No doubt of it 
Connor; it's sthole." 

Then Connor put his head down on his hands 
and lifted up his voice and wept. It was one of those 
sights which men never forget. It seemed more than 
he could bear, to have Nora and his child ''put months 
away from him again." 



And Successful Selections, 67 

But when he went to work that day it seemed to 
all who saw him that he had picked up a new determi- 
nation. His hands were never idle. His face seemed 
to say^ '*ril have Nora with me yet." 

At noon he scratched out a letter, blotted and 
very strangely scrawled, telling Nora what had hap- 
pened; and those who observed him, noticed that he 
had no meat with his dinner. Indeed, from that 
moment he lived on bread, potatoes, and cold water, 
and worked as few men ever worked before. It grew 
to be the talk of the shop, and now that sympathy 
was excited everyone wanted to help Connor. Jobs 
were thrown in his way, kind words and friendly 
wishes helped him mightily; but no power could make 
him share the food or drink of any other workman. 
It seemed a sort of charity to him. 

Still he w^as helped along. A present from Mr. 
Bawne at pay-day, ''set Nora a week nearer," as he 
said, and this and that and the other added to the little 
hoard. It grew faster than the first, and Connor's 
burden was not so heavy. At last, before he hoped 
it, he was once more able to say, 'Tm going to bring 
them over," and to show his handkerchief, in which, 
as before, he tied up his earnings; this time however 
only to his friends. Cautious among strangers, he hid 
the treasure, and kept his vest buttoned over it night 
and day until the tickets were bought and sent. Then 
every man, woman and child, capable of hearing or 
understanding; knew that Nora and her baby were 
coming. 

There was John Jones, who had more of the 
brute in his composition than usually falls to the lot 
of man, — even he, who had coolly hurled his hammer 



68 Practice of Speech 



at an offender's head, missing him by a hair's breadth, 
would spend ten minutes of the noon hour in reading 
the Irish news to Connor. There was Tom Barker, 
the meanest man among the number, w^ho had never 
been known to give anything to any one before, 
absolutely bartered an old jacket for a pair of gilt vases 
w^hich a peddler brought in his basket to the shop, 
and presented them to Connor for his Nora's mantel- 
piece. And there w^as idle Dick, the apprentice, who 
actually w^orked two hours on Connor's work when 
illness kept the Irishman at home one day. Connor 
felt this kindness, and returned it w^henever it was in 
his power, and the days flew by and brought at last 
a letter from his wife. 

''She would start as he desired, and she was well 
and so was the boy, and might the Lord bring them 
safely to each other's arms, and bless them who had 
been so kind to him." That was the substance of the 
epistle which Connor proudly assured his fellow-w^ork- 
men Nora wrote herself. She had lived at service as 
a girl, with a certain good old lady, who had given 
her the items of an education, which Connor told upon 
his fingers. "The radin', that's one, and the writin', 
that's three, and moreover, she knows all that a woman 
can." Then he looked up with tears in his eyes, and 
asked : ''Do you wondher the time seems long bet- 
ween me an' her. boys ?" 

So it was. Nora at the dawn of day — Nora at 
noon — Nora at night — until the news came that the 
Stormy Petrel had come to port, and Connor, breath- 
less and pale with excitement, flung his cap in the air 
and shouted. 

It happened on a holiday afternoon, and half-a- 
dozen men were ready to go with Connor to the 



And Successful Selections, 69 

Steamer and give his wife a greeting. Her little home 
was ready ; Mr. Bawne's own servant had put it in 
order, and Connor took one peep at it before he 
started. 

''She hadn't the Hke of that in the old Counthry," 
he said, ''but she'll know how to keep them tidy." 

Then he led the way towards the dock where the 
steamer lay, and at a pace that made it hard for the 
rest to follow him. The spot was reached at last ; a 
crowd of vehicles blockaded the street; a troop of 
emigrants came thronging up; fine cabin passengers 
were stepping into cabs, and drivers, porters, and all 
manner of employees were yelling and shouting in 
the usual manner. Nora w^ould wait on board for her 
husband, he knew that. 

The little group made their Avay into the vessel at 
last, and there, amid those who sat watching for com- 
ing friends, Connor searched for the two so dear to 
him, patiently at first, eagerly but patiently, but by- 
and-by grovring anxious and excited. 

"She would never go alone," he said, '"she'd be 
lost entirely ; I bade her wait, but I don't see her. 
boys; I think she's not in it." 

"Why don't you see the Captain ?" asked one, and 
Connor jumped at the suggestion. In a few minutes 
he stood before a portly, rubicund man, who nodded 
to him kindly. 

'T am looking for mv wife, ver honor, and I can't 
find her." 

"Perhaps she's gone ashore." 

"I bade her v\'ait." 

"Women don't always do as they are bid. you 
know.'' 



70 Practice of Speech 

''Nora would;" said Connor; ''but maybe she 
was left behind. Maybe she didn't come. I some- 
how think she didn't" 

At the name of Nora the Captain started. In a 
moment he asked : — "What is your name?" 

'Tat Connor," said the man. 

"And your wife's name was Nora?" 

"That's her name, and the boy with her is Jamesy, 
yer honor." 

The captain looked at Connor's friends, they 
looked at the captain. Then he said huskily: ^'Sit 
down my man ; Tve got something to tell you." 

"She's left behind ?" 

"She sailed with us." 

"Where is she?" 

The Captain made answer. 

"My man, we all have our trials; God sends 
them. Yes, — Nora started with us." 

Connor said nothing. He was looking at the 
Captain now, white to his lips. 

"It's been a sickly season. We have had illness 
on board, — the cholera. You knew that." 

"I didn't. I can't read; they kept it from me." 

'^We didn't want to frighten him," said one in a 
half whisper. 

"You know how long we lay at quarantine?" 

"The ship I came in did that. Did ye say Nora 
went ashore ? Ought I to be looking for her, captain?" 

"Many died ; many children. When we were 
halfway here your boy was taken sick." 

"Jamesy," gasped Connor. 

"His mother watched him night and day, and we 
did all we could, but at last he died ; only one of 
many. There were five buried that day. But it broke 



Ayul Successful Selections. 



my heart to see the mother looking out upon the 
water. 'It's his father I think of,' said she, 'he's 
longing to see poor Jamesy.' " 

Connor groaned. 

''Keep up if you can, my man," said the captain. 
"I wish any one else had it to tell rather than I. That 
night Nora was taken ill also ; she grew worse fast. 
In the morning she called me to her. 'Tell Connor I 
died thinking of him,' she said, 'and tell him to meet 
me.' And my man, God help you, she never said 
anything more, — in an hour she was gone." 

Connor had risen. He stood up, trying to steady 
himself; looking at the captain with his eyes dry as 
two stones. Then he turned to his friends : 

'T've got my death, boys," he said, and then 
dropped to the deck like a log. ^ 

They raised him and bore him away. In an hour 
he was at home on the little bed which had been 
made ready for Nora, weary with her long voyage. 
There, at last, he opened his eyes. Old Mr. Bawne 
bent over him ; he had been summoned by the news, 
and the room was full of Connor's fellow-workmen. 

"Better, Connor?" asked the old man. 

"A dale," said Connor. 'Tt's aisv now ; I'll be 
with her soon. And look ye masther, I've learnt one 
thing, — God is good ; He wouldn't let me bring 
Nora over to me, but He's takin' me over to her and 
Jamesy, over the river ; don't you see it, and /icr 
standin' on the other side to welcome me ?" 

And with these words Conner stretched out his 
arms, — perhaps he did see Nora — Heaven only knows, 
— and so died. 



72 Practice of Speech 

EUGENE ARAM'S DREAM. 

THOMAS HOOD. 

'Twas in the prime of summer-time, 

An evening calm and cool, 
And four-and-twenty happy boys 

Came bounding out of school ; 
There were some that ran, and some that leapt 

Like troutlets in a pool. 

Like sporting deer they coursed about. 

And shouted as they ran, — 
Turning to mirth all things of earth. 

As only boyhood can. 
But the usher sat remote from all, 

A melancholy man ! 

^ His hat was off, his vest apart. 

To catch Heaven's blessed breeze ; 

For a burning thought was in his brow. 
And his bosom ill at ease ; 

So he leaned his head on his hands, and read 
The book between his knees. 

Leaf after leaf he turned it o'er, 

Nor ever glanced aside, 
For the peace of his soul he read that book 

In the golden eventide ; 
Much study had made him very lean, 

And pale, and leaden-eyed. 

At last he shut the ponderous tome ; 

With a fast and fervent grasp 
He strained the dusky covers close, 

And fixed the brazen hasp : 
''O God ! could I so close my mind, 

And clasp it with a clasp!" 



A7id Successful Selections. 78 

Then leaping on his feet upright : 

Some moody turns he took, — 
Now up the mead, then down the mead. 

And past a shady nook, — 
And lo ! he saw a Httle boy 

That pored upon a book. 

" My gentle lad, what is't you read, 

Romance or fairy fable ? 
Or is it some historic page, 

Of kings and crowns unstable ?" 
The young boy ga\-e an upward glance, — 

'' It is ' The Death of Abel;" 

The usher took six hasty strides. 

As smit with sudden pain, — 
Six hasty strides beyond the place, 

Then slowly back again ; 
And down he sat beside the lad, 

And talked with him of Cain ; 

And, long since then, of bloody men 

Whose deeds tradition saves ; 
Of lonely folk cut off unseen, 

And hid in sudden graves ; 
Of horrid stabs, in groves forlorn, 

And murders done in caves ; 

And how the sprites of injured men 

Shriek upward from the sod, — 
Ay, how the ghostly hand will point 

To show^ the burial clod ; 
/\nd unknown facts of guilty acts 

Are seen in dreams from God ; 



74 Practice of Speech 



He told how murderers walked the earth 

Beneath the curse of Cain, 
With crimson clouds before their eyes, 

And flames about their brain ; 
For blood has left upon their souls 

Its everlasting stain. 

'' And well," quoth he, '' I know, for truth. 
Their pangs must be extreme, — 

Woe, woe, unutterable woe. 
Who spill life's sacred stream ! 

Fo7^ zvliy ? Methought, last night, I wrought 
A murder in a dream ! 

'' One that had never done me wrong, 

A feeble man, and old ; 
I led him to a lonely field, — 

The moon shone clear and cold ; 
' Now here,' said I, ' this man shall die. 

And I will have his gold !' 

^' Two sudden blows with ragged stick, 

And one with a heavy stone. 
One hurried gash with a hasty knife, 

And then the deed was done ; 
There was nothing lying at my foot 

But lifeless flesh and bone. 

'' Nothing but lifeless flesh and bone. 

That could not do me ill ; 
And yet I feared him all the more. 

For lying there so still ; 
There was a manhood in his look, 

That murder could not kill 



And Successful Selections. 



''And, lo ! the universal air 

Seemed lit with ghastly flame ; 

Ten thousand thousand dreadful eyes 
Were looking down in blame ; 

I took the dead man by his hand, 
And called upon his name. 

'' O God ! it made me quake to see 

Such sense within the slain ; 
For when I touched the lifeless clay, 

The blood gushed out amain ; 
For every clot a burning spot 

Was scorching in my brain. 

" My head was like an ardent coal ; 

My heart as solid ice ; 
My wretched, wretched soul, I knew, 

Was at the devil's price ; 
A dozen times I groaned ; the dead 

Had never groaned but twice. 

" And now, from forth the frowning sky. 
From the heaven's topmost height, 

I heard a voice, — the awful voice 
Of the blood-avenging sprite : 

' Thou guilty man ! take up thy dead, 
And hide it from my sight !' 

" I took the dreary body up, 

And cast it in a stream, — 
A sluggish water, black as ink. 

The depth was so extreme. 
My gentle boy, remember, this 

Is nothing but a dream ! 



76 Practice of Speech 



'' Down went the corpse with hollow plunge, 

And vanished in the pool ; 
Anon I cleansed my bloody hands, 

And washed my forehead cool, 
And sat among the urchins young. 

That evening in the school. 

'' O heaven ! to think of their white souls. 

And mine so black and grim ! 
I could not share in childish prayer, 

Nor join in evening hymn ; 
Like a devil of the pit I seemed, 

'Mid holy cherubim. 

" And peace w^ent with them, one and all. 

And each calm pillow spread ; 
But guilt was my grim chamberlain, 

That lighted me to bed ; 
And drew my midnight curtains round, 

With fingers bloody red. 

'' All night I lay in agony. 

In anguish dark and deep. 
My fevered eyes I dared not close, 

But stared aghast at Sleep ; 
For Sin has rendered unto her 

The keys of hell to keep. 

" All night I lay in agony, 

From weary chime to chime, 
With one besetting, horrid hint. 

That racked me all the time, — 
A mighty yearning like the first 

Fierce impulse unto crime. 



And Successful Selections. 



" One stern t}'rannic thought, that made 

All other thoughts its slave ; 
Stronger and stronger every pulse 

Did that temptation crave, 
Still urging me to go and see 

The dead man in his gra\'e. 

*' Heavily I rose up, as soon 

As light was in the sky, 
And sought the black, accursed pool. 

With a wild, misgiving eye ; 
And I saw the dead in the river bed, 

For the faithless stream was dry. 

*' Merrily rose the lark, and shook 

The dewdrop from its wing ; 
But I never marked its mornino; flicrht, 

I never heard it sing ; 
For I was stooping once again 

Under the horrid thing. 

'' With breathless speed, like a soul in chase, 

I took him up and ran ; 
There was no time to dig a grave 

Before the da}' began : 
In a lonesome wood, with heaps of leaves, 

I /lid the murdered man ; 

'^ And all that day I read in school. 
But my thought was otherwhere ; 

As soon as the midday task was done. 
In secret I was there ; 

And a mighty wind had swept the leaves, 
And sti// the corpse was bare. 



78 Practice of Speech 



" Then down I cast me on my face, 

And first began to weep, 
For I knew my secret then was one 

That earth refijsed to keep, — 
Or land, or sea, though he should be 

Ten thousand fathoms deep. 

"So wills the fierce, avenging sprite, 

Till blood for blood atones ; 
Ay, though he's buried in a cave, 

And trodden down with stones. 
And years have rotted off his flesh, 

The world shall see his bones. 

'' O God ! that horrid, horrid dream 

Besets me now, awake ; 
Again, again, with dizzy brain, 

The human life I take ; 
And my red right hand grows raging hot. 

Like Cranmer's at the stake. 

'' And still no peace for the restless clay. 

Will wave or mould allow ; 
The horrid thing pursues my soul, — 

It stands before me now f' 
The fearful boy looked up, and saw 

Huge drops upon his brow. 

That very night, while gentle sleep 

The urchin's eyelids kissed. 
Two stern-faced men set out from Lynn, 

Through the cold and heavy mist ; 
And Eugene Aram walked between, 

With gyves upon his ivrist. 



And Successful Selections. 79 

THE BRAKEMAN AT CHURCH. 

R. J. BURDETTE. 

On the road once more, with Lebanon fading 
away in the distance, the fat passenger drumming idly 
on the window-pane, the cross passenger sound asleep, 
and the tall, thin passenger reading ''Gen. Grant's 
Tour Around the World," and wondering why 
''Green's August Flower" should be printed above 
the doors of "A Buddhist Temple at Benares." To 
me comes the brakeman, and seating himself on the 
arm of the seat, says, " I went to church yesterday." 

"Yes?" I said, with that interested inflection that 
asks for more. "And what church did you attend ?" 

" Which do you guess ?" he asked. 

" Some union mission church," I hazarded. 

" No," he said; "I don't like to run on these 
branch roads very much. I don't often go to church, 
and w^hen I do, I want to run on the main line, w^here 
your run is regular, and you go on schedule time and 
don't have to wait on connections. I don't like to run 
on a branch. Good enough, but I don't like it." 

" Episcopal ?" I guessed. 

"Limited express," he said; "all palace cars and 
$2 extra for seat, fast time, and only stop at big sta- 
tions. Nice line, but too exhaustive for a brakeman. 
AH train-men in uniform, conductor's punch and lan- 
tern silver-plated, and no train-boys allowed. Then 
the passengers are allowed to talk back at the con- 
ductor, and it makes them too free and easy. No, I 
couldn't stand the palace cars. Rich road, though. 
Don't often hear of a receiver being appointed for that 
line. Some mighty nice people travel on it, too." 

" Universalist?" I suggested. 



80 Practice of Speech 



"Broad gauge," said the brakeman ; "does too 
much comphmentary business. Everybody travels on 
a pass. Conductor doesn't get a fare once in fifty 
miles. Stops at flag stations, and won't run into any- 
thing but a union depot. No smoking car on the 
train. Train orders are rather vague, though, and the 
train-men don't get along well with the passengers. 
No, I don't go to the Universalist, but I know some 
good men who run on that road." 

"Presbyterian?" I asked. 
" Narrow gauge, eh ?" said the brakeman ; " pretty 
track, straight as a rule ; tunnel right through a 
mountain rather than go around it ; spirit-level grade ; 
passengers have to show their tickets before they get 
on the train. Mighty strict road, but the cars are a 
little narrow ; have to sit one in a seat, and no room 
in the aisle to dance. Then there is no stop-over 
tickets allowed; got to go straight through to the 
station you're ticketed for, or you can't get on at all. 
When the car is full, no extra coaches ; cars built at 
the shop to hold just so many, and nobody else al- 
lowed on. But you don't often hear of an accident on 
that road. It's run right up to the rules." 

"Maybe you joined the Free Thinkers ?" I said. 
"Scrub road," said the brakeman; "dirt road-bed 
and no ballast ; no time-card and no train dispatcher. 
All trains run wild, and every engineer makes his own 
time, just as he pleases. Smoke, if you want to; kind 
of go-as-you-please road. Too many side tracks, and 
every switch wide open all the time, with the switch- 
man sound asleep and the target lamp dead out. Get 
on as you please and get off when you want to. Don't 
have to show your tickets, and the conductor isn't ex- 



And Successful Selections. 81 



pected to do anything but amuse the passengers. No, 
sir. I was offered a pass, but I don't hke the Hne. I 
don't like to travel on a road that has no terminus. 
Do you know, sir, I asked a division superintendent 
where that road run to, and he said he hoped to die if 
he knew. I asked him if the general superintendent 
could tell me, and he said he didn't believe they had a 
general superintendent, and if they had he didn't know 
anything more about the road than the passengers. I 
asked him who he reported to, and he said ' nobody.' 
I asked a conductor who he got his orders from, and 
he said he didn't take orders from any living man or 
dead ghost. And when I asked the engineer who he 
got his orders from, he said he'd like to see anybody 
give him orders ; he'd run the train to suit himself, or 
he'd run it into the ditch. Now you see, sir, I'm a 
railroad man, and I don't care to run on a road that 
has no time, makes no connections, runs nowhere, and 
has no superintendent. It may be all right, but I've 
railroaded too long to understand it." 

'' Maybe you went to the Congregational church?" 
"Popular road," said the brakeman; ''an old 
road, .too — one of the very oldest in the country. 
Good road-bed and comfortable cars. Well-managed 
road, too ; directors don't interfere with division 
superintendents and train orders. Road's mighty 
popular, but it's pretty independent, too. Yes, didn't 
one of the division superintendents down east discon- 
tinue one of the oldest stations on this line two or 
three years ago ? But it's a mighty pleasant road to 
travel on — ahvays has such a pleasant class of pas- 
sengers." 

'' Did you try the Methodist ?" I said. 



82 Prafitice of Speech. 



''Now you're shouting!" he said, with some en- 
thusiasm. '' Nice road, eh ? Fast time and plenty ot 
passengers. Engines carry a power of steam, and 
don't you forget it ; steam-gauge shows a hundred 
and enough all the time. Lively road ; when the con- 
ductor shouts ' all aboard,' you can hear him at the 
next station. Every train-light shines like a head- 
light. Stop-over checks are given on all through 
tickets ; passenger can drop off the train as often as he 
likes, do the station two or three days, and hop on the 
next revival train that comes thundering along. Good, 
whole-souled, companionable conductors ; ain't a road 
in the country where the passengers feel more at 
home. No passes ; every passenger pays full traffic 
rates for his ticket. Wesleyanhouse air-brakes on all 
trains, too ; pretty safe road, but I didn't ride over it 
yesterday." 

'' Perhaps you tried the Baptist?" I guessed once 
more. 

*'Ah, ha!" said the brakeman ; ''she's a daisy; isn't 
she ? River road ; beautiful curves ; sweep around 
anything to keep close to the river ; but it's all steel 
rail and rock ballast ; single track all the way, and not 
a side track from the round-house to the terminus. 
Takes a heap of water to run it, though ; double tanks 
at every station, and there isn't an engine in the shops 
that can pull a pound or run a mile with less than two 
gauges. But it runs through a lovely country ; those 
river roads always do; river on one side and hills on 
the other, and it's a steady climb up the grade all the 
way till the run ends where the fountain-head of the 
river begins. Yes, sir; I'll take the river road every 
time for a lovely trip ; sure connections and a good 



And Successful Selections. 83 

time, and no prairie dust blowing in at the windows. 
And yesterday, when the conductor came around for 
the tickets with a httle basket punch, I didn't ask him 
to pass me, but I paid my fare Hke a Httle man — 
twenty-five cents for an hour's run and a little concert 
by the passengers thrown in. I tell you, pilgrim, you 
take the river road when you want — " 

But just here the long whistle from the engine 
announced a station, and the brakeman hurried to the 
door, shouting : 

'* Zionsville ! The train makes no stops between 
here and Indianapolis !" 



WHAT THE CLOCK SAW. 

'' There, Simmons^ you blockhead ! Why didn't 
you trot that old w^oman aboard her train ? She'll 
have to wait here now^ until the 1.05 a. m." 

*• You didn't tell me." 

" Yes, I did tell you. 'Twas only your con- 
founded, stupid carelessness." 

^^She— ' 

'' She / You fool! What else could you expect 
of her ! Probably she hasn't any wit ; besides, she 
isn't bound on a very jolly journey — got a pass up the 
road to the poor-house. I'll go and tell her, and if 
you forget her to-night, see if I don't make mince- 
meat of you !" and our w^orthy ticket agent shook his 
fist menacingly at his subordinate. 

" You've missed your train, marm," he remarked 
coming forward to a queer-looking bundle in the 
corner. 



84 Practice of Speech 

A trembling hand raised the faded black veil, and 
revealed the sweetest old face I ever saw. 

'' Never mind," said a quivering voice. 

" Tis only three o'clock now; you'll have to wait 
until the night train, which doesn't go up until 1.05." 

'' Very well, sir; I can wait." 

'' Wouldn't you like to go to some hotel ? Sim- 
mons will show you the way." 

'' No, thank you, sir. This will do as well. 
Besides, I haven't any money." 

'' Very well, Simmons will tell you when it's 
time." 

All the afternoon she sat there so quiet that I 
thought sometimes she must be asleep, but when I 
looked more closely, I could see every once in a while 
a great tear rolling down her check, which she would 
wipe away hastily with her cotton handkerchief 

The depot was crowded, and all was bustle and 
hurry until the 9:50 train going east came due; then 
every passenger left except the old lady. It is very 
rare, indeed, that any one takes the night express, 
and always after I have struck ten, the depot becomes 
silent and empty. 

The ticket agent put on his great coat, and 
bidding Simmons keep his wits about him for once in 
his life, departed for home. 

But he had no sooner gone than Simmons 
stretched himself out upon the table and began to 
snore vociferously. 

Then it was I witnessed such a sight as I never 
had before, and never expect to again. 

The fire had gone down — it was a cold night, 
and the wind howled dismally outside. The lamps 



A7id Successful Selections. ^ 85 

grew dim and flared, casting weird shadows upon the 
wall. By and by I heard a smothered sob from the 
corner, then another. I looked in that direction. 
She had risen from her seat, and oh ! the look of 
agony on the poor pinched face. 

"I can't believe it!" she sobbed, wringing her 
thin, white hands. '' Oh ! I can't believe it ! My ! 
babies ! my babies ! how^ often have I held them in 
my arms and kissed them ; and how^ often they used 
to say back to me, ' I love you, mamma,' and now^, 

God ! they've turned against me. Where am I 
going ? To the poor-house ! No ! no ! no ! I can- 
not ! I will not ! Oh, the disgrace !" 

And sinking upon her knees, she sobbed out in 
prayer : 

'' O God ! spare me this and take me home ! O 
God, spare me this disgrace ; spare me !" 

The wind rose higher and sw^ept through the 
crevices, icy cold. How it moaned and seemed to sob 
like something human that is hurt. I began to shake, 
but the kneeling figure never stirred. The thin shaw4 
had dropped from her shoulders unheeded. Simmons 
turned over and drew his heavy blanket more closely 
about him. 

Oh, how cold ! Only one lamp remained, burning 
dimly ; the other two had gone out for want of oil. 

1 could hardly see, it was so dark. 

At last she became quieter and ceased to moan. 
Then I grew drow^sy, and kind of lost the run of 
things after I had struck tw^elve, w^hen some one 
entered the depot with a bright light. I started up. 
It was the brightest light I ever saw, and seemed to 
fill the room full of glory. I could see 'twas a man. 
He walked to the kneeling figure and touched her 



86 Practice of Speech 



upon the shoulder. She started up and turned her 
face wildly around. I heard him say : 

'' 'Tis train time, ma'am. Come !" 

A look of joy came over her face. 

^' I'm ready," she whispered. 

*' Then give me your pass, ma'am." 

She reached him a worn old book, which he 
took and from it read aloud : 

'* Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy 
laden, and I will give you rest." 

'' That's the pass over our road, ma'am. Are you 
ready ?" 

The light died away, and darkness fell in its place. 
My hand touched the stroke of one. Simmons awoke 
with a start and snatched his lantern. The w^histle 
sounded down brakes ; the train was due. He ran to 
the corner and shook the old woman. 

*' Wake up, marm , 'tis train time." 

But she never heeded. He gave one look at 
the white set face» and, dropping his lantern, fled. 

The up-train halted, the conductor shouted ''All 
aboard," but no one made a move that way. 

The next morning, when the ticket agent came, 
he found her frozen to death. They whispered among 
themselves, and the coroner made out the verdict 
'' apoplexy," and it was in some way hushed up. 

They laid her out in the depot, and advertised 
for her friends, but no one came. So after the second 
day, they buried her. 

The last look on the sweet old face, lit up with a 
smile so unearthly, I keep with me yet ; and when I 
think of the occurance of that night, I know she went 
out on the other train, that never stopped at the poor- 
house. 



And Successful Selections. 87 

OVER THE HILL FROM THE POOR-HOUSE. 

WILL CARLETOX. 

I, who was always counted, they say, 
Rather a bad stick any way, 
SpHntered all over with dodges and tricks, 
Known as " the worst of the Deacon's six ;" 
I, the truant, saucy and bold, 
The one black sheep in my father's fold, 
*' Once on a time," as the stories say, 
Went over the hill on a winter's day — 
Oz'er tlie hill to the poor-house, 

Tom could save what twenty could earn ; 
But giviii was somethin' he never w^ould learn ; 
Isaac could half o' the Scriptur's speak — 
Committed a hundred verses a week ; 
Never forgot, an' never slipped ; 
But '' Honor thy father and mother " he skipped ; 
So over the hill to the poor-house ! 

As for Susan, her heart was kind 

An' good — what there w^as of it, mind ; 

Nothin' too big, an' nothin' too nice, 

Nothin' she wouldn't sacrifice 

For one she loved ; an' that 'ere one 

Was herself, when all was said an' done ; 

An' Charley an' Becca meant well, no doubt, 

But any one could pull them about ; 

An' all o' our folks ranked well, you see, 

Save one poor fellow, and that was me ; 

x*\n' when, one dark an' rainy night, 

A neighbor's horse went out o' sight, 

They hitched on me, as the guilty chap 

That carried one end o' the halter-strap. 



Practice of Speech 



An' I think, myself, that view of the case 

Wasn't altogether out o' place ; 

My mother denied it, as mothers do, 

But I am inclined to believe 'twas true. 

Though for me one thing might be said — 

That I, as well as the horse, w^as led ; 

And the worst of whisky spurred me on, 

Or else the deed would have never been done. 

But the keenest grief I ever felt 

Was when my mother beside me knelt, 

An' cried, an' prayed, 'till I melted down, 

As I wouldn't for half the horses in town. 

I kissed her fondly, then an' there, 

An' swore henceforth to be honest and square. 

I served my sentence — a bitter pill 

Some fellows should take who never w ill ; 

And then I decided to go '' out West," 

Concludin' 'twould suit my health the best ; 

Where, how, I prospered, I never could tell. 

But fortune seemed to like me well ; 

An' somehow^ every vein I struck 

Was always bubbling over with luck. 

An', better than that, I w^as steady an' true, 

An' put my good resolutions through. 

Then, I wrote to a trusty old neighbor, an' said, 

" You tell 'em, old fellow, that I am dead, 

An' died a Christian ; 'twill please 'em more. 

Than if I had lived the same as before." 

But when this neighbor he wrote to me, 
'' Your mother's in the poor-house," says he, 
I had a resurrection straightway, 
An' started for her that very day. 



And Successful Selections. 89 



And when I arrived where I was grown, 

I took good care that I shouldn't be known ; 

But I bought the old cottage, through and through, 

Of some one Charley had sold it to ; 

And held back neither work nor gold 

To fix it up as it was of old. 

The same big fire-place, wide and high, 

Flung up its cinders toward the sky ; 

The old clock ticked on the corner-shelf — 

I wound it an' set it agoin' myself; 

An' if everything w^asn't just the same, 

Neither I nor monev was to blame ; 

Then — over tJie hill to the poor-house ! 

One blowin', blusterin' winter's day. 
With a team an' cutter I started away ; 
My fiery nags were as black as coal ; 
(They some'at resembled the horse I stole ;) 
I hitched, an' entered the poor-house door — 
A poor old woman was scrubbin' the floor ; 
She rose to her feet in great surprise, 
And looked, quite startled, into my eyes ; 
I saw the whole of her trouble's trace 
In the lines that marred her dear old face ; 
'' Mother!" I shouted, *'your sorrows are done! 
You're adopted along o' your horse-thief son. 
Come over the liill from the poor-house P' 

She didn't faint ; she knelt by my side. 
An' thanked the Lord, 'till I fairly cried. 
An' maybe our ride wasn't pleasant an' gay, 
An' maybe she wasn't wrapped up that day ; 
An' maybe our home wasn't warm an' bright, 
An' maybe it w^asn't a pleasant sight, 



90 Practice of Speech 



To see her a-gettin' the evenin's tea, 

An' frequently stoppin' an' kissin' me ; 

An' maybe we didn't live happy for years, 

In spite of my brothers' and sisters' sneers. 

Who often said, as I have heard, 

That they wouldn't own a prison-bird ; 

(Though they're gettin' over that, I guess. 

For all of 'em owe me more or less ;) 

But I've learned one thing ; an' it cheers a man 

In always a-doin' the best he can ; 

That whether on the big book, a blot 

Gets over a fellow's name or not. 

Whenever he does a deed that's white. 

It's credited to him, fair and bright. 

An' when you hear the great bugle's notes. 

An' the Lord divides his sheep and goats ; 

How^ever they may settle my case. 

Wherever they may fix my place. 

My good old Christian mother, you'll see. 

Will be sure to stand right up for me. 

With over the hill from the pooi'-hoitse. 



THE BAR-TENDER'S STORY. 

PELEG ARKWRIGHT. 

When I knowed him at first there was suthin', 

A sort of a general air. 
That was wery particular pleasin', 

And what you might call — debonair. 
I'm aware that expression is Frenchy, 

And highfalutin, perhaps, 
Which accounts that I have the acquaintance 

Of several quality chaps, 



And Successful Selections. 91 

And such is the way they converses. 

But speakin' of this here young man, 
Apparently, nature had shaped him 

On a sort of a Hberal plan. 
Had guv him good looks and good language, 

And manners expressin' with vim 
His belief in hisself, and that others 

Was just as good fellers as him. 

Well, this chap wasn't stuck up, by no means, 

Nor inclined to be easy put down ; 
And was thought to be jolly agreeable 

Wherever he went around town. 
He used to come in for his beverage 

Quite regular, every night; 
And I took a consid'able interest 

In mixin' the thing about right. 

A judicious indulgence in liquids 

It is natural for me to admire ; 
But I hev to admit that for some folks 

They are poison, complete and entire ; 
For rum, though a cheerful companion, 

As a boss is the devil's own chum ; 
And this chap, I am sorry to state it, 

Was floored in a wrastle with rum. 

For he got to increasin' his doses, 

And took 'em more often, he did; 
And it growed on him faster and faster, 

'Till inter a bummer he slid. 
I was grieved to observe this here feller 

A-lettin' hisself down the grade, 
And I lectured him onto it sometimes, 

At the risk of its injuria' trade. 



92 Practice of Speech 



At last he got awfully seedy, 

And lost his respect for hisself ; 
And all his high notions of honor 

Was bundled away on the shelf 
But at times he was dreadful remorseful, 

Whenever he'd stop for to think, 
And he'd swear to reform hisself frequent, 

And end it — by takin' a drink. 

What saved that young feller ? A woman. 

She done it the sing'lerest way ! 
He come in the bar-room one evenin' 

(He hadn't been drinkin' that day), 
And sot hisself down to the table 

With a terrible sorrowful face, 
And sot there a-groanin' repeated, 

A-callin' hisself a gone case. 

He was thinkin' and thinkin' and thinkin'. 

And cursin' hisself and his fate^ 
And ended his thinkin', as usual, 

By orderin' a '' bourbon straight." 
He was holdin' the glass in his fingers. 

When into the place from the street 
There come a young gal, like a spirit. 

With a face that was wonderful sweet. 

And she glided right up to the table, 

And took the glass gently away ; 
And she says to him, '' George, it is over, 

I am only a woman to-day. 
I rejected you once in my anger. 

But I come to you lowly and meek. 
For I can't live without you, my darling. 

I thought I was strong, but I'm weak. 



And Siicccsfiful Selections. 93 

" You are bound in a terrible bondage, 

And I come, love^ to share it with you; 
Is there shame in the deed ? I can bear it, 

For at last to love I am true. 
I have turned from the home of my childhood, 

And I come to you, lover and friend, 
Leaving comfort, contentment, and honor, 

And I'll stay to the terrible end. 

'' Is there hunger and want in the future? 

I will share them with you and not shrink ; 
And together we'll join in the pleasures. 

The woes and the dangers of drink." 
Then she raised up the glass firm and steady 

(But her face w^as as pale as the dead) — 
" Here's to wine and the joy of carousals, 

The songs and the laughter," she said. 

Then he riz up, his face like a tempest, 

And took the glass out of her hand, 
And slung it away stern and savage. 

And I tell you his manner was grand ! 
And he says, " I have done w^ith it, Nelly! 

And I'll turn from the ways I have trod; 
And I'll live to be worthy of you, dear. 

So help me a merciful God !" 

What more was remarked it is needless 

For me to attempt to relate ; 
It was some time ago since it happened. 

But the sequel is easy to state : 
I saw that same feller last Monday, 

Lookin' nobby and handsome and game; 
He was wheelin' a vehicle, gen'lemen. 

And a baby was into the same. 



94 Practice of Speech 



LEEDLE YAWCOB STRAUSS. 

CHARLES F. ADAMS. 

I haf von funny leedle poy 

Vot gomes schust to my knee, — 

Der queerest schap, der greatest rogue 

As efer you dit see. 

He runs, und schumps, und schmashes dings 

In all barts off der house. 

But vot off dot? He vas mine son. 

Mine leedle Yawcob Strauss. 

He got der measels und der mumbs, 

Und eferyding dot's oudt; 

He sbills mine glass off lager bier, 

Foots schnuff indo mine kraut ; 

He fills mine pipe mit Limburg cheese — 

Dot vas der roughest chouse ; 

I'd dake dot from no oder poy 

But leedle Yawcob Strauss. 

He dakes der milk-ban for a dhrum, 

Und cuts mine cane in dwo 

To make der schticks to beat it mit — 

Mine cracious, dot vas drue ! 

I dinks mine hed vas schplit abart. 

He kicks oup sooch a touse ; 

But nefer mind, der poys vas few 

Like dot young Yawcob Strau3s. 

He asks me questions sooch as dese : 

Who baints mine nose so red ? 

Who vos it cuts dot schmoodth blace oudt 

Vrom der hair ubon mine hed ? 

Und vhere der plaze goes vrom der lamp 

Vene'er der glim I douse ? 

How gan I all dese dings eggsblain 

To dot schmall Yawcob Strauss. 



And Successful Selections. 



I somedimes dink I schall go vild 

Mit sooch a grazy poy, 

Und vish vonce more I gould haf rest 

Und beaceful dimes enshoy. 

But ven he vas ashleep in ped, 

So quiet as a mouse, 

I prays der Lord, *' Dake anytings. 

But leaf dot Yawcob Strauss." 



AUNTY DOLEFUL'S VISIT. 

MARY KYLE DALLAS. 

How do you do^ Cornelia? I heard you were 
sick, and I stepped in to cheer you up a little. My 
friends often say, '' It's such a comfort to see you. 
Aunty Doleful. You have such a flow of conversa- 
tion, and are so lively." Besides, I said to myself, as 
I came up the stairs, ''Perhaps it's the last time I'll 
ever see Cornelia Jane aUve." 

Voii don't mean to die yet, eh? Well, now, how do 
you know ? You can't tell. You think you are 
getting better; but there was poor Mrs. Jones sitting 
up, and every one saying how smart she was, and all 
of a sudden she was taken with spasms in the heart, 
and went off like a flash. But you must be careful, 
and not get anxious or excited. Keep quite calm, 
and don't fret about anything. Of course, things 
can't go on just as if you were down stairs; and I 
w^ondered whether you knew; your little Billy was 
sailing about in a tub on the mill-pond, and that your 
little Sammy was letting your little Jimmy dowm from 
the veranda roof in a clothes-basket. 

Gracious goodness ! what's the matter ? You guess 
Providence '11 take care of 'em ! Don't look so. You 



96 Practice of Speech 



thought Bridget zvas zvatching them ? Well, no, she 
isn't. I saw her talking to a man at the gate. He 
looked to me like a burglar. No doubt she let him 
take the impression of the door-key in wax, and then 
he'll get in and murder you all. There was a family 
at Kobble Hill all killed last week for fifty dollars. 
Now, don't fidget so ; it will be bad for the baby. 

Poor little dear! How singular it is, to be sure, 
that you can't tell whether a child is blind, or deaf 
and dumb, or a cripple at that age. It might be all^ 
and you'd never know it. 

Most of them that have their senses make bad 
use of them, though: that ought to be your comfort, 
if it does turn out to have anything dreadful the 
matter with it. And more don't live a year. I saw 
a baby's funeral down the street as I came along. 

How is Mr. Kobble ? Well^ but finds it warm in 
town^ eh ? Well, I should think he would. They are 
dropping down by hundreds there with sun-stroke. 
You must prepare your mind to have him brought 
home any day. Anyhow, a trip on these railroad 
trains is just risking your life every time you take one. 
Back and forth every day as he is, it's just trifling 
with danger. 

Dear! dear! now to think what dreadful things 
hang over us all the time ! Dear ! dear ! 

Scarlet fever has broken out in the village, 
Cornelia. Little Isaac Potter has it, and I saw your 
Jimmy playing with him last Saturday. 

Well, I must be going now. I've got another 
sick friend, and I shan't think my duty done unless I 
cheer her up a Httle before I sleep. Good-by. How 
pale you look, Cornelia. I don't believe you hav^e a 



And Successful Selections. 97 



e^ood doctor. Do send him awav and trv some one 
else. You don't look so well as you did when I came 
in. But if anything happens, send for me at once. If 
I can't do an\'thing else, I can cheer you up a little. 



CUDDLE DOOX. 

ALEXANDER ANDERSON. 

The bairnies cuddle doon at nicht 

Wi' muckle faucht an' din. 
'* Oh, try and sleep, ye waukrife rogues 

Your father's comin' in." 
They never heed a word I speak, 

I try to gie a froon : 
But aye I hap them up, an" cr}^, 

''Oh, bairnies, cuddle doonl" 

\Yee Jamie, wi' the curly heid — 

He aye sleeps next the wa' — 
Bangs up an' cries, '' I want a piece " — 

The rascal starts them a.' 
I rin an' fetch them pieces, drink.s — 

They stop awee the soun' — 
Then draw the blankets up, and cr};, 

''Noo, weanies, cuddle doon 1" 

But ere five minutes gang, wee Rab 

Cries oot, frae 'neath the claes, 
" Mither, mak' Tam gie ower at ance: 

He's kittlin' wi" his taes." 
The mischief's in that Tam for tricks : 

He'd bother half the toon. 
But aye I hap them up, and cry, 

'' Oh, bairnies, cuddle doonl" 



98 Practice of Speech 



At length they hear their father's fit; 

An/ as he steeks the door, 
They turn their faces to the wa', 

While Tani pretends to snore. 
" Hae a' the weans been gude?" he asks, 

As he pits affhis shoon. 
'' The bairnies, John, are in their beds, 

An' lang since cuddled doon." 

An' just afore we bed oorsels, 

We look at oor wee lambs. 
Tarn has his airm roun' wee Rab's neck, 

An' Rab his airm roun' Tam's. 
I lift wee Jamie up the bed, 

An' as I straik each croon, 
I whisper, till my heart fills up, 

'' Oh, bairnies cuddle doon!" 

The bairnies cuddle doon at nicht 

Wi' mirth that's dear to me ; 
But soon the big w^arl's cark an' care 

Will quaten doon their glee. 
Yet, come what will to ilka ane. 

May He who sits aboon 
Aye whisper, though their pows be bauld, 

^'Oh, bairnies, cuddle doon !" 



BELSHAZZAR'S DOOM. 

Lo, the sounds of mirth rise loud 
From a city in the east. 

And a thousand gleaming chariots 
Gather at a royal feast ; 

And a mellow, mystic radiance 
Floats upon the perfumed air, 



And Successful Selections. 99 

While the sounds of soft, sweet music, 

Drive away all thought of care. 
K'en this city's proudest children 

Look with rapture on the sight, 
While a throng of giddy dancers 

Glide beneath the tinted light. 

On his throne of dazzling splendor 

Now Chaldea's King reclines, 
While the goblets gemmed and golden^ 

Glow with rich and mellow wines. 
And, to still increase the splendors 

Of that glorious, gala night. 
Glitter Judah's sacred vessels — 

Triumphs of the heathen's might. 

'Round the walls of that proud City 

Now the Persian army slept. 
While their stern and watchful sentries, 

Long and weary vigils kept. 
While, perchance, some drowsy sentry 

Paused upon his lonely beat. 
And in silence marked the timing 

Of the dainty, tinkling feet ; 
And the countless scintilations, 

From the windows tall and wide. 
With their meteor-like reflections 

On the dark Euphrates tide. 
Then, resumed his measured walkings 

As the night-bird rustled by. 
Thinking of the mighty changes 

That must meet the m.orning's eye ! 
How the dark Euphrates river. 

Startled from its rocky bed, 
Would move on in frightful grandeur 

Through a city of the dead ! 



loo Practice of Speech 

But what reck the gay Chaldeans 

With their walls of wondrous height, 
What to them was haughty Cyrus, 

In his silent, sullen might ! 
Loudly laughs the King Assyrian, 

Little does he dream of harm ; 
Sweetly smiles yon blushing maiden, 

Leaning on her lover's arm. 

But, how silent are the minstrels ! 

See the vast assemblage quail, 
And the god-like King, Belshazzar, 

Turneth sudden deadly pale ! 
For along those walls palatial 

Now a ghostly hand doth write, 
In a dark and unknown language, 

Words that freeze the very sight! 

Many a deeply-skilled magician 

With his deep and longing eyes. 
And in turn each wise old seer 

Now the spectral message tries ; 
But in vain their conjurations; 

Still those flaming letters stand 
On the grand old wall emblazoned, 

Written by God's own right hand ! 

" Bring the Hebrew captive hither," 

Then the trembHng Monarch cried, — 
'' Since the wise of all Chaldea 

By these letters are defied!" 
See, Judea's prophet enters 

'Mid that pale and trembling throng, 
'Mid the halls that late re-echoed 

With the mirth of shout and song. 



And Successful Selections. 101 

" Hebrew captive!" — cries the Monarch, — 

*' If these letters thou canst read, 
Costly robes and kingly honors 
Will I give to thee as meed !" 
** I ask not honors, trembling Monarch ! HI 

What to me this heathen land ! ?' 

One of many children, chastened 

By a loving Father's hand ! 
But, Belshazzar, King Assyrian, 

With thy broad and rich domains, 
With countless heathen altars 

And thy strange unholy fanes, 
Unto thee does this come greeting, 
Penned by high Jehovah's hand. 
Before whom the angels worship 

In full many a white-robed band ! 
In the balance of high Heaven 

Has thy wanting soul been weighed, 
By great Alpha and Omega, 
By the Maker of all made. 
Know, thy days on earth are numbered, 

And ere morning dawns again. 
Thou, with many a loyal subject, 

Shall be numbered with the slain ! 
Lo, thy Kingdom shall be given 
To the Persian and the Mede ! 
Thus, O haughty King Assyrian, 
Does this dreadful sentence read!" 

Dreary silence holds dominion 

Through those grandly lighted halls. 
And the sound of trampling horses 

On the drowsy night-air falls ! 
Louder grows the sound of conflict, 



102 Practice of Speech 

And as pale stars softly wane, 
Medes and Persians hold Chaldea 
And Belshazzar's with the slain ! 

Canst thou tell me, smiling skeptic, 

Why no longer, as of yore, 
Does the weary Arab rest him 

On the dark Euphrates shore! 
Yes, a pool of stagnant blackness 

Sleeps where Babylon once stood, 
And the raven and foul lap-wing 

Lave their pinions in its flood. 
And the slimy adder hisses 

Where once lordly feasts were held. 
And the moaning north wind sigheth 

Where those strains of music swelled. 
List, and thou shall hear the angels 

As they worship, one by one, 
Say, '' O God ! in Earth and Heaven, 

May Thy holy wall be done." 



M HAVE SEEN AN END OF ALL PER- 
FECTION." 

MRS. SIGOURNEY. 

I have seen man in the glory of his days and 
the pride of his strength. He was built hke the tall 
cedar that lifts its head above the forest trees ; like the 
strong oak that strikes its root deeply into earth. He 
feared no danger; he felt no sickness; he wondered 
that any should groan or sigh at pain. His mind 
was vigorous, like his body; he was perplexed at no 
intricacy ; he was daunted at no difficulty ; into hid- 
den things he searched, and what v/as crooked he 



And Successful Selections. 108 

made plain. He went forth fearlessly upon the face of 
the mighty deep ; he surveyed the nations of the 
earth ; he measured the distance of the stars, and 
called them by their names ; he gloried in the extent 
of his knowledge, in the vigor of his understanding, 
and strove to search even into what the Almighty had 
concealed. And when I looked on him I said, " What 
a piece of work is man ! how noble in reason ! how in- 
finite in faculties ! in form and moving how express 
and admirable ! in action how like an angel ! in appre- 
hension how like a God!" 

I returned — his look was no more lofty, nor his 
step proud; his broken frame was like some ruined 
tower ; his hairs were white and scattered ; and his 
eye gazed vacantly upon what was passing around him. 
The vigor of his intellect was wasted, and of all that 
he had gained by study, nothing remained. He feared 
w^hen there was no danger, and when there was no 
sorrow, he wept. His memory was decayed and treach- 
erous, and showed him only broken images of the 
glory that was departed. His house was to him like a 
strange land, and his friends were counted as his ene- 
mies ; and he thought himself strong and healthful, 
while his foot tottered on the verge of the grave. He 
said of his son — "He is my brother;" of his 
daughter, "I know her not;" and he inquired what 
was his own name. And one who supported his 
last steps, and ministered to his many w^ants, said 
to me, as I looked on the melancholy scene, " Let 
thine heart receive instruction, for thou hast seen an 
end of all earthly perfection." 

I have seen a beautiful female treading the first 
stages of youth, and entering joyfully into the pleasures 



104 Practice of Speech 



of life. The glance of her eye was variable and sweet, 
and on her cheek trembled something like the first 
blush of the morning ; her lips moved, and there was 
harmony ; and when she floated in the dance, her ligh 
form, like the aspen, seemed to move with every 
breeze. I returned, — but she was not in the dance ; 
I sought her in the gay circle of her companions, but 
I found her not. Her e3^es sparkled not there ; — the 
music of her voice was silent; she rejoiced on earth 
no more. I saw a train, sable and slow-paced, who 
bore sadly to the opened grave what once was ani- 
mated and beautiful. They paused as they approach- 
ed, and a voice broke the awful silence : '' Mingle 
ashes with ashes, dust with its original dust. To the 
earth, whence it was taken, consign we the body of our 
sister." They covered her wnth the damp soil and the 
cold clods of the valley; and the worms crowded into 
her silent abode. Yet one sad mourner lingered, to 
cast himself upon the grave ; and as he wept, he said : 
*' There is no beauty, or grace, or loveliness, that con- 
tinueth in man ; for this is the end of all his glory and 
perfection." 

I have seen an infant with a fair brow, and a frame 
like polished ivory. Its limbs were pliant in its sports ; 
it rejoiced, and again, it wept ; but whether its glowing 
cheek dimpled with smiles, or its blue eyes were bril- 
liant with tears, still I said in my heart, " It is beauti- 
ful." It was like the first pure blossom, which some 
cherished plant has shot forth, whose cup is filled w4th 
a dew-drop, and whose head reclines upon its parent 
stem. 

I again saw this child when the lamp of reason 
first dawned in its mind. Its soul was gentle and 



And Successful Selections. 10 5 

peaceful ; its e\^e sparkled with joy, as it looked 
around on this good and pleasant world. It ran 
swiftly in the ways of knowledge ; it bowed its ear 
to instruction ; it stood like a lamb before its teachers. 
It was not proud, or envious, or stubborn ; and it had 
never heard of the vices and vanities of the world. 
And when I looked upon it, I remembered that our 
Saviour had said, '' Except ye become as httle chil- 
dren, ye cannot enter into the kingdom of heaven." 

But the scene was changed, and I saw a man 
whom the world called honorable, and many waited 
for his smile. They pointed out the fields that were 
his, and talked of the silver and gold that he had gath- 
ered ; they admired the stateliness of his domes, and 
extolled the honor of his family. And his heart an- 
swered secretly, " By my wisdom have I gotten all 
this ;" so he returned no thanks to God, neither did 
he fear or serve him. And as I passed along, I heard 
the complaints of the laborers who had reaped down 
his fields, and the cries of the poor, whose covering he 
had taken away; butthe sound of feasting and revelry 
was in his apartments, and the unfed beggar came tot- 
tering hungry from his door. But he considered not 
that the cries of the oppressed were continually enter- 
ing into the ears of the Most High. And when I 
knew that this man was once the teachable child that 
I had loved, the beautiful infant that I had gazed upon 
with delight, I said in my bitterness, " I have seen an 
end of all perfection;" and I laid my mouth in the 
dust. 



L06 Practice of Speech 

CATO ON IMMORTALITY. 

ADDISON. 

It must be so ; — Plato, thou reasonest well, 
Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire, 
This longing after immortality ? 
Or whence this secret dread and inward horror 
Of falling into nought? Why shrinks the soul 
Back on herself, and startles at destruction ? 
— 'Tis the Divinity that stirs within us, 
'Tis heaven itself that points out an hereafter, 
And intimates Eternity to man. 
Eternity ! — thou pleasing — dreadful thought ! 
Through what variety of untried being — 
Through what new scenes and changes must we pass! 
The wide, th' unbounded prospect lies before me ; 
But shadows, clouds and darkness rest upon it. 
Here will I hold : — If there's a Power above us, 
(And that there is, all Nature cries aloud 
Through all her works), he must delight in Virtue ; 
And that which he delights in must be happy : 
But — when ? — or where ? — This world was made for 

Caesar. 
I'm weary of conjectures : This must end them. 

[^Laj/ing' his hand upon his sword^ 
Thus I am doubly armed ; my death and life, 
My bane and antidote are both before me. 
This in a moment brings me to an end, 
But this informs me I shall never die. 
The soul, secure in her existence, smiles 
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point. 
The stars shall fade away, the sun himself 
Grow dim with age, and nature sink in years ; 
But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth. 
Unhurt amid the war of elements, 
The wreck of matter, and the crash of worlds. 



And Successful Selections. 107 

POTENCY OF ENGLISH WORDS. 

JOHX S. MCINTOSH. 

Seek out ''acceptable words"; and as ye seek 
them, turn to our English stores. Seeking to be rich 
in speech, you will find that in the broad ocean of our 
English literature there are pearls of great price, our 
potent English words ; words that are wizards, more 
mighty than the old Scotch magician ; words that are 
pictures, bright and moving with all the coloring and 
circumstances of life; words that go down the century 
like battle-cries ; words that sob like litanies, sing like 
larks, sigh like zephyrs, shout like seas. Seek amid 
our exhaustless stores, and you will find words that 
flash like the stars of the frosty sky, or are melting 
and tender like Love's tear-filled eyes ; words that are 
fi'esh and crisp like the mountain breeze in Autum.n, 
or mellow and rich as an old painting ; words that 
are sharp, unbending and precise, like Alpine needle- 
points, or are heavy and rugged like great nuggets of 
gold ; w(5rds that are glittering and gay, like imperial 
gem.s, or are chaste and refined like the face of a Muse. 
Search, and ye shall find words that crush like the 
battle-axe of Richard, or cut like the scimetar of 
Saladin ; words that sting like a serpent's fangs, or 
soothe like a mother's kiss ; words that can unveil the 
nether depths of Hell, or paint out the heavenly 
heights of purity and peace; words that can recall a 
Judas ; words that can reveal the Christ. Before us 
stands a grand instrument of countless strings, of myriad 
notes and keys, and we are content with some few 
hundreds, and these not the purest, richest, deepest, 
sweetest. If you would be strong of speech, master 
more of these notes ; let your vocabulary be rich, 



108 Practice of Speech 



varied, pure, and proportionate will be your power 
and attractiveness as speakers. I w^ould have you 
deeply impressed by the force, fullness and flexibility 
of our noble tongue, where, if anywhere, the gigantic 
strength of thought and truth is wedded to the 
seraphic beauty of perfect utterance. I would have 
you fling yourselves unhesitatingly out into this great, 
fresh sea, like bold swimmers into the rolling waves of 
ocean. 

It will make you healthy, vigorous, supple and 
equal to a hundred calls of duty. I would have you 
cherish sacredly this goodly heritage, won by centu- 
ries of English thought and countless lives of English 
toil. I would have you jealous, like the Apostle over 
the Church, over these pure wells of English undefiled- 
Degrade not our sacred tongue by slang ; defile not its 
crystal streams with the foul waters of careless speech ; 
honor its stern old parentage, obey its simple yet 
severe grammar, watch its perfect rythm, and never 
mix its blue blood, the gift of noblest sires, with the 
base puddle of any mongrel race ; but be ye of pure 
English lip. 



WHY GIRLS CANT WHISTLE. 

Grandma Goff said a curious thing — 
*' Boys may whistle, but girls must sing." 
That's the very thing I heard her say 
To Kate, no longer than yesterday. 

'' Boys may whistle." Of course they may, 
If they pucker their lips the proper way. 
But for the life of me I can't see 
Why Kate can't whistle ^s well as me, 



And Successful Selections. 109 

'' Boys may whistle, but girls must sing." 
Now, I call that a curious thing. 
If boys can whistle w^hy can't girls, too ? 
It's the easiest thing in the world to do. 

First you do that, then you do this — 
Just like you w^ere fixing up for a kiss ; 
It's a very poor girl, that's all I say, 
Who can't make out to do that way. 

*' Boys may whistle," but girls may not; 
A whistle's a song with the noise knocked out, 
Strayed off somewhere dow^n the throat. 
Everything lost but the changeful note. 

So if boys can whistle and do it well, 
Why cannot girls, will somebody tell ? 
Why can't they do what a boy can do ? 
That is the thing, I should like to know. 

I w^ent to father and asked him why 

Girls couldn't w^histle as well as I, 

And he said, " The reason that girls must sing 

Is because a girl's a sing-ular thing." 

And grandma laughed 'till I thought she'd ache. 

When I said I knew it was all a mistake. 

'' Never mind, little man," I heard her say, 

*' They will make you whistle enough some day." 



'' GWINE AWAY." 

" De Lake Sho' train am de one w^e is lookin' fur, 
boss, kase I'ze gwine to send de ole w^oman to Toledo. 
Poo' ole soul ! She's been cryin' all de mawnin', kase 
she's gwine away from me, an' to tell de truf, I can't 



110 Practice of Speech 



keep de tears outer my own eyes long 'nuff to see 
'cross de depot." 

It was an old, old, colored man, stoop-shouldered, 
trembling with age. He was accompanied by his 
aged wife, who had on her Sunday-best and carried a 
bundle in her hand. She was wiping her eyes with a 
handkerchief, and in lieu of something better he was 
using his coat-sleeve. 

'' Is your wife going on a visit ?" 

'' Bless you, no ! We would be feelin' like chill'in 
if it war only a visit. You see, sah, we's got so ole 
an' poo' dat we can't keep house nor airn a libin' any 
mo'. We's felt it comin' on fur a long time past, but 
neber 'spected de day would come when we'd have 
to separate." 

'' Then she w^on't come back ?" 

'' Dat's what ails us. You see, I'ze got a son 
heah who will gib me a home, an' she's got a darter 
down in Toledo who will take keer of her. She's — 
she's gwine away dis mawnin', an' I spect I'll neber 
set eyes on her no mo'. 'Tain't fur down dar, but we 
is poo' an' ole, an' I'ze gwine to kiss her good-bye fur 
de las' time. Hold up yer face, Mary, till I kiss ye ! 
You an' me has trabbled in de same path risin' of sixty 
y'ars, an' now when we am grown ole an' poo', an' 
am waitin' fur de call, we has got to separate! Dar', 
dar', chile, don't take on so ! It's sumthin' we can't 
help, an' if you sob dat way you'll broke de ole man 
right down. Dat's de train ober dar', an' — an' — " 

He put his arms around her and his tears fell on 
her cheek, as he said : 

'' We slaved together, an' we has starved an' 
shibbered an' met trouble wid de same speerit." 



And Successful Selections, 111 

''Hush, chile — it's all fur de best! Maybe de 
Lawd will bring us together agin. If — if he doan' do 
it, you'll meet me up dar in heaben. We kin trust de 
Lawd fur dat. If I git dar fust I'll wait fur you right 
at de gate, an' if you am fust taken, I know you'll 
watch fur me." 

She kissed him and clung to him hke a child, and 
it was only when the train was ready to go that he 
disengaged her arms, kissed her once more, and led 
her to the gate, with the words : 

'' I'll be praym' de Lawd to be good to ye, an' 
I'll fink of ye ebery hour in de day." 

" Keep down yer sobs, chile — we can't be chill'in 
no mo'. Here you am — good-bye — good-bye." 

She went away sobbing hke a child, and he passed 
out of the depot with big tears in his eyes and a heart 
almost breaking with sorrow. 

" I'll trust — I'll trust in de Lawd," he whispered, 
as he went his way. " Tell ye what, it's powerful sad 
on two ole folkses like us to be all broke up an' sepa- 
rated like dis, but we couldn't do better. Bress her 
dear soul 1 but de poo' body Avas well nigh done fur 



THE KITCHEN POKER. 
Swate widow Fagg, one winter's night 
Invited a tea party. 

Of eleo-ant o;entility, 

And made the boys quite hearty ; 
But just as they wxre breaking up, 

She missed her kitchen poker. 
And delicately hinted, that 

The thief was Paddy Croker. 



112 Practice of Speech 



Now, Pat, he was a Grenadier, 

In what is called the Grey Light Horse ; 
A stouter, cleaner, tighter lad — 

Upon my sowl there never was. 
Says he unto the widdow : 

'' Do you take me for a joker ? 
Do you think I'd come into your house 

And steal your dirty poker? 
Your nasty, dirty poker, 
Your dirty kitchen poker ! 
Do you think an Irish gintleman 

Would steal your dirty poker ?" 

But all that he could say or do 

Had no effect upon her. 
At length, says she : *' Now, Pat, will you 

Declare upon your honor?" 

Arrah ! Pat stared and started back. 
His hand behind his cloaker ! ! 

" Ye touch my honor, touch my life ; — 
There is your dirty poker! — 

Your nasty kitchen poker; 

Your dirty, ugly poker. 

Touch my honor — touch my life ; 

Here ! Take your dirty poker!" 



ENGINEERS MAKING LOVE. 

R. J. BURDETTE. 

It's noon when Thirty-five is due. 

An' she comes on time like a flash of light, 
An' you hear her whistle '^ Too-tee-too ! " 

Long 'fore the pilot swings in sight. 



And Successful Selections. 113 

Bill Maddon's drivin' her in to-day, 
An' he's caUin' his sweetheart far away — 
Gertrude Hurd lives down by the mill ; 
You might see her blushin'; she knows it's Bill, 
" Tudie I Toot-ee ! Tu-die I Tu ! " 

Six-five A. ]\I. there's a local comes, 

Makes up at Bristol, running east ; 
An' the way her whistle sings an' hums 

Is a livin' caution to man and beast. 

Every one knows who Jack White calls, — 
Little Lou Woodbury, down by the Falls ; 
Summer or winter, always the same, 
She hears her lover callin' her name — 

**Lou-ie I Lou-ie I Lou-ieel" 

But at one-fifty-one, old Sixty-four — ■ 

Boston express, runs east, clear through — 

Drowns her rattle and rumble and roar 
With the softest whistle that ever blew. 

An' away on the furthest edge of the town 
Sweet Sue Winthrop's eyes of brown 
Shine like the starlight, bright and clear, 
When she hears the whistle of Abel Gear, 
" You-ou, Su-u-u-u-e!" 

Along at midnight a freight comes in 

Leaves Berlin sometime — 1 don't know when ; 

But it rumbles along with a fearful din 

Till it reaches the Y-switch there, and then 

The clearest notes of the softest bell 
That out of a brazen goblet fell 
Wake Nellie Minton out of her dre.ams ; 
To her like a wedding-bell it seems — 

" Nell, Nell, Nell ! Nell, Nell, Nell I" 



114 Practice of Speech 

Tom Wilson rides on the right hand side, 
Given her steam at every stride ; 
An' he touches the whistle, low an' clear. 
For Lulu Gray on the hill, to hear — 
''Lu-lu ! Loo-loo ! Loo-oo !" 

So it goes on all day an' all night 

'Till the old folks have voted the thing a bore ; 
Old maids and bachelors say it ain't right 

For folks to do courtin' — with such a roar. 

But the engineers their kisses will blow 
From a whistle valve to the girls they know, 
An' stokers the name of their sweethearts tell, 
With the '' too-too-too" and the swaying bell. 



HAMLET'S SOLILOQUY. 

SHAKESPEARE. 

To be — or not to be — that is the question ! 

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer 

The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune; 

Or to take arms against a sea of troubles. 

And, by opposing, end them. To die — to sleep ; — 

No more ? and, by a sleep, to say we end 

The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks 

That flesh is heir to ? 'Tis a consummation 

Devoutly to be wished ! To die — to sleep : 

To sleep ! perchance to dream ! Ay ; there's the rub • 

For, in that sleep of death, what dreams may come. 

When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, 

Must give us pause ! 

There's the respect 
That makes calamity of so long life ; 
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time. 
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, 



and Successful Selections. Il5 

The pangs of despised love, the law's delay, 
The insolence of office, and the spurns 
That patient merit of the unworthy takes, 
When he himself might his quietus make 
With a bare bodkin ? 

Who would fardels bear, 
To groan and sweat under a weary life ; 
But that the dread of something after death, — 
That undiscovered country, from w^hose bourn 
No traveler returns — puzzles the w^ll 
And makes us rather bear those ills we have, 
Than fly to others that we know not of? 

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all ; 
And thus the native hue of resolution 
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought ; 
And enterprises of great pith and moment, 
With this regard, their currents turn awry, 
And lose the name of action. 



THE BELLS OF SHAXDON. 

FATHER PROUT. 

With deep affection and recollection 

I often think of those Shandon bells, 
Whose sounds so wild would, in days of childhood^ 

Fling 'round my cradle their magic spells. 
On this I ponder, where'er I wander. 

And thus grow fonder, sweet Cork, of thee ; 
With thy bells of Shandon 
That sound so grand on 
The pleasant waters of the river Lee. 



116 Practice of Speech 

I've heard bells chiming full many a clime in, 

Tolling sublime in cathedral shrine ; 
While at a glibe rate brass tongues would vibrate. 

But all their music spoke naught like thine ; 

For memory dwelling on each proud swelling 

Of thy belfry knelling its bold notes free, 

Made the bells of Shandon 

Sound far more grand on 

The pleasant waters of the river Lee. 

I've heard bells tolling '' old Adrian's Mole " in. 

Their thunders rolling from the Vatican, 
And cymbals glorious, swinging uproarious 
In the gorgeous turrets of Notre Dame ; 
But thy sounds are sweeter than the dome of Peter 
Flings o'er the Tiber, pealing solemnly ! 
Oh ! the bells of Shandon 
Sound far more grand on 
The pleasant waters of the river Lee. 

There's a bell in Moscow^ while on tower and kiosko 

In St. Sophia the Turkman gets. 
And loud in air calls men to prayer 

From the tapering summits of tall minarets. 
Such empty phantom, I freely grant them, 
But there's an anthem more dear to me, 
'Tis the bells of Shandon 
That sound so grand on 
The pleasant waters of the river Lee ! 



HYMN TO THE NIGHT. 

LONGFELLOW. 

I heard the traihng garments of the night 

Sweep through her marble halls ! 
I saw her sable skirts all fringed with light 
From the celestial walls ! 



And Successful Selections. 117 

I felt her presence by its spell of might, 

Stoop o'er me from above ; 
The calm, majestic presence of the Night, 

As of the one I love. 

I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight. 

The manifold, soft chimes, 
That fill the haunted chambers of the Night, 

Like some old poet's rhymes. 

From the cool cisterns of the midnight air 

My spirit drank repose ; 
The fountain of perpetual peace flows there, — 

From those deep cisterns flows. 

O, holy Night ! from thee I learn to bear 

What man has borne before ! 
Thou layest thy finger on the Hps of care, 

And they complain no more. 

Peace! Peace! Orestes-like I breathe this prayer ! 

Descend with broad-winged flight, 
The welcome, the thrice-prayed for, the most fair. 

The best-beloved Night. 



SCENE FROM HAMLET. 

Enter the Kixg, Queex, Hamlet, Lokds, and Attend axts. 
King. Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother's death 
The memory be green ; and that it us befitted 
To bear our hearts in crrief and our whole kincrdom 
To be contracted in one brow of woe; 
Yet so far hath discretion fought with nature, 
That we with wisest sorrow think on him, 
Together with remembrance of ourselves. 
Therefore our sornetime sister, now our queeU;, 



118 Practice of Speech 

The imperial jointress of this warhke state, 
Have we, as 'twere, with a defeated joy, — 
Taken to wife : nor have we herein barred 
Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone 
With this affair along : — For all, our thanks. 
But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son, 



Hajn. A little more than kin, and less than kind. 

\_Aside 

King. How is it that the clouds still hang on you ? 

Ham, Not so, my lord^ I am too much i' the sun. 

Queen. Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted color off. 
And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark. 
Do not, for ever, with thy vailed lids. 
Seek for thy noble father in the dust : 
Thou know'st, 'tis common ; all that live, must die, 
Passing through nature to eternity. 

Ham. Ay, madam, it is common. • 

Queen. If it be. 

Why seems it so particular with thee ? 

Ham. Seems, madam ! nay, it is ; I know not seems. 
'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother, 
Nor customery suits of solemn black. 
Nor windy suspiration of forced breath. 
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye. 
Nor the dejected 'havior of the visage. 
Together w^ith all forms, modes, shows of grief, 
That can denote me truly : These, indeed, seem ; 
For they are actions that a man might play : 
But I have that within, which passeth show ; 
These, but the trappings and the suits of woe. 

King, 'Tis sweet and commendable in your nature, 
Hamlet, 
To give these mourning duties to your father : 
But, you must know, your father lost a father; 



And Successful Selections. 119 

That father lost, lost his ; and the survivor bound, 

In filial obligation, for some term 

To do obsequious sorrow : but to persevere 

In obstinate condolement, is a course 

Of impious stubborness ; 'tis unmanly grief: 

It shows a will most incorrect to heaven ; 

A heart unfortified, a mind impatient : 

An understanding simple and unschooled : 

For what, we know, must be ; and is as common 

As any the most vulgar thing to sense, 

Why should we, in our peevish opposition. 

Take it to heart ? Fye ! 'tis a fault to heaven. 

We pray you, throw to earth 

This unprevailmg woe; and think of us 

As of a father: for let the world take note, 

You are the most immediate to our throne ; 

Our chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son. 

Queen. Let not thy mother lose her prayers, Hamlet : 
I pray thee stay with us ; go not to Wittenberg. 

Ham. I shall in all my best obey you, madam. 

King. Why, 'tis a loving and a fair reply ; 
Be as ourself in Denmark. ^ — Madam, come ; 
This gentle and unforced accord of Hamlet 
Sits smiling to my heart : in grace whereof. 
No jocund health that Denmark drinks to-day 
But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell ; 
Re-speaking earthly thunder. Come away. 

\Exeunt King, Queen, Lords, &c. 
Ham, Oh, that this too-too solid flesh would melt. 
Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew ! 
Or that the Everlasting had not fixed 
His canon 'gainst self-slaughter ! God I q ' ^^^ • 
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable 
Seem to me all the uses of this world I 



120 PrariUce of Speech, 



Fye on't ! Oh, Fye ! 'tis an unweeded garden, 

That grows to seed : things rank and gross in nature 

Possess it merely. That it should come to this ! 

But two months dead ! — nay, not so much, not two ; 

So excellent a King ; that was to this^ 

Hyperion to a satyr ; so loving to my mother, 

That he might not beteem the winds of^ heaven 

Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth! 

Must I remember? And yet, within a month, — 

Let me not think on't : — Frailty, thy name is woman ! — 

A little month ; or ere those shoes were old, 

With which she foUow^ed my poor father's body. 

Like Niobe, all tears ; — why she, even she, — 

O heaven ! a beast that wants discourse of reason, 

Would have mourned longer, — married with my uncle. 

My father's brother, but no more like my father. 

Than I to Hercules : 

It is not, nor it can not come to good ; 

But break, my heart ; for I must hold my tongue ! 



THE Vn.LAGE BLACKSMITH. 

L0NGFELL0W\ 

Under a spreading chestnut tree 

The village smithy stands; 
The smith a mighty man is he. 

With large and sinewy hands. 
And the muscles of his brawny arms 

Are strong as iron bands. 
His hair is crisp, and black and long ; 

His face is like the tan ; 
His brow is wet with honest sweat, 

He earns whate'er he can, 
And looks the whole world in the face, 

For he owes not any man, 



And Successful Selections. 121 

Week in, week out, from morn 'till night, 

You can hear his bellows blow; 
You can hear him sw4ng his heavy sledge, 

With measured beat and slow, 
Like a sexton ringing the village bell, 

When evening sun is low. 
And children coming home from school 

Look in at the open door — 
They love to see the flaming forge 

And hear the bellows roar, 
And catch the sparks that fly 

Like chaff from a threshing floor. 



He goes on Sunday to the church, 

And sits amongst his boys ; 
He hears the parson pray and preach ; 

He hears his daughter's voice 
Singing in the village choir 

And it makes his heart rejoice; 
It sounds to him like her mother's voice 

Singing in paradise ; 
He needs must think of her once more, 

How in the grave she lies. 
And with his hard, rough hand he wipes 

A tear from out his eves. 



Toiling, rejoicing, sorrowing, 
Onward through life he goes ; 

Each morning; sees some task becrun, 
Each evening sees its close ; 

Something attempted, something done, 
Has earned a night's repose. 



122 Practice of Speech 



Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, 
For the lesson thou hast taught ; 

Thus, at the flaming forge of Life 
Our fortunes must be wrought ; 

Thus on its sounding anvil shaped 
Each burning deed, each thought. 



MURDER OF KING DUNCAN. 

SHAKESPEARE. 

Macbetli. Is this a dagger which I see before me. 
The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch 

thee. — 
I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. 
Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible 
To feeling as to sight ? or art thou but 
A dagger of the mind; a false creation, 
Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain? 
I see thee yet, in form as palpable. 
As this which now I draw. 

Thou marshal'st me the way that I was going ; 
And such an instrument I was to use. 
Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses. 
Or else worth all the rest. I see thee still ; 
And on thy blade and dudgeon, gouts of blood, 
Which was not so before. — There's no such thing ; 
It is the bloody business, which informs 
Thus to mine eyes. 

Now o'er the one-half world 
Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse 
The curtained sleep : now witchcraft celebrates 
Pale Hecate's offerings ; and withered murder, 
Alarumed by his sentinel, the wolf. 



And Successful Selections. 123 



Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace, 
With Tarquin's ravishing strides, toward his designs 
Moves like a ghost. — Thou sure and firm-set earth, 
Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear 
Thy very stones prate of my where-about. 
And take the present horror from the time, 
Which now suits with it. Whil'st I threat, he lives ; 
Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives. \_A 

bell rings. 
I go, and it is done; the bell invites me : 
Hear it not, Duncan; for it is a knell 
That summons thee to heaven, or to hell. \_Exit. 

Enter Lady Macbeth. 
Lady M. That which hath made them drunk, 

hath made me bold : 
What hath quenched them, hath given me fire. — 

Hark! — peace ! 
It was the owl that shrieked, the fatal bellman, 
Which gives the sternest good-night. He is about it. 
The doors are open ; and the surfeited grooms 
Do mock their charge with snores : I have drugged 

their possets. 
That death and nature do contend about them. 
Whether they live or die. 

MacbetJi \zuithinS\ Who's there ? — what, ho ! 
Lady M. Alack ! I am afraid they have awaked, 
And 'tis not done. The attempt, and not the deed, 
Confounds us. Hark ! — I laid their daggers ready ; 
He could not miss them. — Had he not resembled 
My father as he slept, I had don't. — My husband ! 
Enter Macbeth. 
Macb. Tve done the deed ! — didst thou not hear 

a noise ? 



124 Practice of Speech 



Lady M. I heard the owl scream, and the cricket's 
cry. 
Did not you speak ? 

Macb, When ? 

Lady M. Now. 

Macb, As I descended? 

Lady M. Aye. 
Macb. Hark!— 
Who Hes i' the second chamber ? 

Lady M. Donalbain. 

Macb. This is a sorry sight. \JLooking on his 

hands. 
Lady M. A fooHsh thought, to say a sorry sight. 
Macb. There's one did laugh in's sleep, and one 
cried, Murder ! 
That they did wake each other; I stood and heard 

them ; 
But they did say their prayers, and addressed them 
Again to sleep. 

Lady M. There are two lodged together. 
Macb. One cried, God bless us ! and Amen! the 
other ; 
As they had seen me with these hangman's hands 
Listening their fear, I could not say. Amen, 
When they did say, God bless us. 

Lady M. Consider it not so deeply. 
Macb. But wherefore could not I pronounce 
Amen ? 
I had most need of blessing, and Amen 
Stuck in my throat. 

Lady M. These deeds must not be thought of 
After these ways ; so, it will make us mad. 

Macb, Methought I heard a voice cry, Sleep no 
more ! 



And Successful Selections. 125 

Macbeth ^/of/i viurdcr sleep — the innoeent sleep — 
Sleep that knits up the 7'aveled sleeve of care^ 
The death of eacJi days life^ sore labor s bath, 
Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second cottrse, 
Chief nourisher in life's feast: — 

Lady M. What do you mean ? 

Macb. Still it cried, Sleep no more, to all the 
house ; 
Glamis hath murdered sleep ; and therefore Cawdor 
Shall sleep 7to more — Macbeth shall sleep 7io more ! 

Lady M. Who was it thus cried ? Why, worthy 
thane, 
You do unbend your noble strength, to think 
So brain-sickly of things. Go, get some water, 
And wash this filthy witness from your hand. — 
Why did you bring these daggers from the place ? 
They must lie there. Go, carry them, and smear 
The sleepy grooms with blood. 

Maeb. I'll go no more : 

I am afraid to think on what I have done : 
Look on't again, I dare not. 

Lady M. Infirm of purpose! 

Give me the daggers. The sleeping and the dead 
Are but as pictures : 'tis the eye of childhood 
That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed, 
I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal, 
For it must seem their guilt. \JExit. Knocking within. 

Macb. Whence is that knocking? 

How is't with me, when every noise appalls me ? 
What hands are here ? — Ha ? they pluck out mine 
eyes ! 

Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood 



126 Prnctice of Speech 



Clean from my hands ? No : this my hand will 

rather 
The multitudinous seas incarnadine, 
Making the green — one red. 

Reenter Lady Macbeth. 
Lady M. My hands are of your color; but I 

shame 
To wear a heart so white. \_Knoeking?\^ I hear a 

knocking 
At the south entry. Retire we to our chamber : 
A little water clears us of this deed ; 
How easy is it, then ? Your constancy 
Has left you unattended. \_Knocking?[ Hark ! more 

knocking ; 
Get on your night-gown, lest occasion call us, 
And show us to be watchers. Be not lost 
So poorly in your thoughts. 

Macb. To know my deed, 'twere best not know 

myself 

\K7iocki7ig^ 

Wake Duncan with thy knocking! I would thou 

couldst. 



MOTHER. 

I want to speak to you of your mother. It may be 
that you have noticed a careworn look upon her face 
lately. Of course, it has not been brought there by any 
act of yours, still it is your duty to chase it away. I 
want you to get up to-morrow morning and get 
breakfast ; and when your mother comes, and begins 
to express her surprise, go right up to her and kiss 
her. You can't imagine how it will brighten her dear 
face. 



And Successful Selections. 127 

Besides, you owe her a kiss or two. Away back, 
when you w^ere a little girl, she kissed you when no 
one else w^as tempted by your fever-tainted breath and 
swollen face. You w^ere not as attractive then as you 
are now. And through those years of childish sun- 
shine and shadow^s, she was always ready to cure, by 
the magic of a mother's kiss, the little, dirty, chubby 
hands w^henever they w^ere injured in those first skirm- 
ishes with the rough old world. 

And then the midnight kiss wdth w^hich she routed 
so many bad dreams, as she leaned above your restless 
pillow, have all been on interest these long, long years 

Of course, she is not so pretty and kissable as you 
are; but if you had done your share of w^ork during 
the last ten years, the contrast w^ould not be so marked 

Her face has more wrinkles than yours, and yet 
if you w^ere sick, that face would appear far more 
beautiful than an angel's, as it hovered over you, 
w^atching every opportunity to minister to your com- 
fort, and every one of those wrinkles would seem to 
be bright wavelets of sunshine chasing each other over 
the dear face. 

She will leave you one of these days. These 
burdens, if not lifted from her shoulders, will break 
her dowm. Those rough, hard hands that have done 
so many necessary things for you, will be crossed 
upon her lifeless breast. 

Those neglected lips, that gave you your first 
baby kiss, will be forever closed, and those sad, tired 
eyes will have opened in eternity, and then you will 
appreciate your mother; but it will be too late. 



128 Practice of Speech 



CENTENNIAL HYMN. 

JOHN G. WHITTIER. 

Our fathers' God, from out whose hand 
The centuries fall like grains of sand, 
We meet to-day, united, free, 
And loyal to our land and Thee. 
To bless Thee for the era done, 
And trust Thee for the opening one. 

Here, where of old, by Thy design, 
The fathers spake that word of Thine, 
Whose echo is the glad refrain 
Of rended bolt and falling chain, 
To grace our festal time^ from all 
The zones of earth our guests we call. 

Be with us while the new world greets 
The old world, thronging all its streets. 
Unveiling all the triumphs won 
By art or toil, beneath the sun ; 
And unto common good ordain 
This rivalship of hand and brain. 

Thou, who hast here in concord furled 
The war-flags of a gathered world. 
Beneath our Western skies fulfil 
The Orient's mission of good will, 
And, freighted with love's Golden Fleece, 
Send back the Argonauts of peace. 

For art and labor meet in truce. 
For beauty made the bride of use. 
We thank Thee, while, withal, we crave 
The austere virtues strong to save. 
The honor proof to place or gold. 
The manhood never bought nor sold ! 



And Successful Selections. 129 

O, make Thou us, through centuries long, 
In peace secure, in justice strong; 
Around our gift of freedom draw 
The safeguards of Thy righteous law, 
And, cast in some diviner mould. 
Let the new^ cycle shame the old! 



THE RAVEN. 

EDGAR A. POE. 

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak 
and weary. 

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten 
lore — 

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came 
a tapping. 

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my cham- 
ber-door. 

" 'Tis some visitor," I muttered, '' tapping at my cham- 
ber-door — 

Only this, and nothing more." 

Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak Decem- 
ber, 

And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost 
upon the floor. 

Eagerly I wished the morrow ; vainly I had sought to 
borrow 

From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the 
lost Lenore — 

For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name 
Lenore — 

Nameless here forevermore. 

And each silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple 
curtain, 



130 Practice of Speech 

Thrilled me — filled me with fantastic terrors never felt 
bdbre ; 

So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood 
repeating, 

'' 'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber- 
door, — 

Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber- 
door; 

That it is, and nothing more." 

Presently my soul grew stronger : hesitating then no 

longer, 
''Sir," said I, ''or Madam, truly your forgiveness I im- 
plore; 
But the fact is, I was napping, and so gently you came 

rapping, 
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my 

chamber-door, 
.That I scarce was sure I heard you" — -here I opened 

wide the door : 

Darkness there, and nothing more. 
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, 

wondering, fearing. 
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to 

dream before; 
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave 

no token, 
And the only word there spoken was the whispered 

word " Lenore !" 
This / whisper'd, and an echo murmured back the 

word, " Lenore!" 

Merely this and nothing more. 

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me 
burning, 



And Suceesfiful Selections. 131 

Soon again I heard a tapping, something louder than 
before. 

"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my 
window-lattice ; ♦ 

Let me see then what thereat is, and this mystery ex- 
plore, — 

Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery ex- 
plore ; — 

'Tis the wind, and nothing more." 

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt 
and flutter, 

In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of 
yore. 

Not the least obeisance made he ; not a minute stopp'd 
or stay'd he ; 

But, with mien of lord or lady, perch' d above my 
chamber-door, — 

Perch'd upon a bust of Pallas, just above my chamber- 
door — 

Perch'd, and sat, and nothing more. 

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into 

smiling. 
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it 

wore, 

"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, 
" art sure no craven ; 

Ghastly, grim, and ancient raven, wandering from the 
nightly shore, 

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plu- 
tonian shore ?" 

Quoth the raven, " Nevermore !" 



132 Practice of Speech 

Much I marveled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse 

so plainly, 
Though its answer little meaning — little relevancy 
• bore; 

F'or we cannot help agreeing that no living human 

being 
Ever yet was blessed w^ith seeing bird above his 

chamber-door — 
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his 

chamber-door, 

With such name as '' Nevermore!" 

But the raven sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke 

only 
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did 

outpour. 
Nothing further then he utter'd — not a feather then he 

flutter'd — • 
'Till I scarcely more than mutter'd, ''Other friends have 

flown before — 
On the morrow ke will leave me, as my hopes have 

flown before." 

Then the bird said, ''Nevermore!" 
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, 
" Doubtless," said I, " what it utters is its only stock 

and store. 
Caught from some unhappy master, whom unmerciful 

disaster 
Follow'd fast and foUow'd faster, till his songs one 

burden bore, — 
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore. 

Of — " Never — nevermore!" 
But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling, 



And Successful Selections, 133 

Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, 

and bust, and door, 
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to 

linking 
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this o.minous bird of 

yore — 
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous 

bird of yore 

Meant in croaking '' Nevermore!" 
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable ex- 
pressing 
To the fow4, whose fiery eyes now^ burned into my 

bosom's core. 
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease 

reclining 
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light 

gloated o'er, 
But wdiose velvet violet lining, with the lamp-light 

gloating o'er 

S/ie shall press — ah ! nevermore ! 
Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from 

an unseen censer 
Swung by seraphim, whose foot-falls tinkled on the 

tufted floor. 
''Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee — by these 

angels he hath sent thee 
Respite — respite and nepenthe from thy memories of 

Lenore ! 
Quaff, oh, quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost 

Lenore !" 

Quoth the raven, "Nevermore!" 
''Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! — prophet still, if 

bird or devil ! 



134 Practice of Speech 

Whether tempter sent^ or whether tempest toss'd thee 
here ashore, 

Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land en- 
chanted — 

On this home by Horror haunted — tell me truly, I im- 
plore — 

Is there — is there balm in Gilead?-tell me — tell me, I 
implore !" 

Quoth the raven, " Nevermore !" 

''Prophet!" said I, ''thing of evil! — prophet still, if 
bird or devil ! 

By that heaven that bends above us — by that God we 
both adore, 

Tell this soul, with sorrow laden, if, within the distant 
Aidenn, 

It shall clasp a sainted maiden, whom the angels name 
Lenore ; 

Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels 
name Lenore !" 

Quoth the raven, " Nevermore!" 

" Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend !" I 
shrieked, upstarting — 
• " Get thee back into the tempest, to the Night's Plu- 
tonian shore ! 

Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul 
hath spoken ! 

Leave my loneliness unbroken !— quit the bust above 
my door ! 

Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form 
from off my door ! 

Quoth the raven, " Nevermore !" 

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is 
sitting 



And Successful Selections, 135 

On the pallid bust of Pallas, just above my chamber- 
door ; 

And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is 
dreaming, 

And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his 
shadow on the floor ; 

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating 
on the floor 

Shall be lifted — Nevermore ! 



AN ORIGINAL LOVE STORY. 

He struggled to kiss her, she struggled the same 
To prevent him, so bold and undaunted ; 

But as smitten by lightning, he heard her exclaim : 
''Avaunt, sir!" And off he avaunted. 

But when he returned, with a wild, fiendish laugh, 
Showing clearly that he was affronted, 

And threatened by main force to carry her off, 

She cried : '' Don't !" And the poor fellow donted. 

When he meekly approached^ and got down at her feet, 
Praying loud, as before he had ranted, 

That she would forgive him, and try to be sweet, 
And said, " Can't you ?" — the dear girl recanted. 

Then softly he whispered : " How could you do so ? 

I certainly thought I was jilted; 
But come thou Avith me, to the parson we'll go, 

Say, w^ilt thou, my dear?" And she wilted. 

Then gayly he took her to see her new home, — 

A cabin by no means enchanted. 
'' See! Here we can live with no longrincr to roam," 

He said : '* Shan't we, my dear ?" So they shantied ! 



136 Practice of Speech 



HEART'S EASE. 

Of all the bonny buds that blow 

In bright or cloudy weather, 
Of all the flowers that come and go 

The whole twelve months together, 
This little, purple pansy brings 
Thoughts of the sw^eetest, saddest things! 

I had a little lover once 

Who used to give me posies, 
His eyes were blue as hyacinths. 

His cheeks w^ere red as roses. 
And everybody loved to praise 
His pretty looks and w^insome ways. 

The girls, who w^ent to school with me, 

Made little jealous speeches. 
Because he brought me loyally 

His biggest plums and peaches; 
And always at the door would wait 
To — to carry home my books and slate! 

They '' couldn't see," — with pout and fling,- 

'' The mighty fascination 
About that little snub-nosed thing, 

To w^n such admiration ! 
As if there weren't a dozen girls 
With brighter eyes and longer curls ! " 

And this I knew, as well as they. 

And never could see clearly. 
Why, more than Marion or May, 

I should be loved so dearly; 
And once I asked him, " Why was this ? " 
He answered only with a kiss ! 



And Successful Selectwns. 137 



But, when I teased him, " Tell me lu/ij, 

I want to know the reason !" 
Then, from the garden-bed near by, — 

The pansies were in season — , 
He plucked and gave a flower to me 
With sweet and simple gravity. 

" The garden is in bloom," he said — , 
'^ With lilies pale and slender, 

With phlox and with verbenas red, 
And fuchsia's purple splendor ; 

But over and above the rest 

This little heart's-ease suits me best!" 

"'Am I your little heart's-ease, then?" 
I asked with blushing pleasure. 

He answered, '' Yes ! and yes again ! 
Heart's-ease and dearest treasure. 

That the round w^orld and all the sea 

Held nothing half so dear as me!" 

I listened wdth a proud delight, 
Too rare for words to capture, 

And never dreamed what sudden blight 
Would come to still my rapture, — 

Could I foresee the tender bloom 

Of pansies 'round a little tomb! 

Life holds some stern experience, 

As most of us discover, 
And I've had other losses since 

I lost my little lover; 
But still this purple pansy brings 
Thoughts of the sweetest, saddest things ! 



138 Practice of Speech 



BARBERY FRICKEY. 

GERMAN VERSION. 

Dwas early von morning, 

Ven daytimes proke oud, 
Dot all dose dings happen 

Vot I dold youse aboud. 
All around der blaces 

Der peen a big crop — 
Botatoes und such dings 

Vos looking dip-dop. 
I dink dose rebels like to have some off dose rations. 
Because dhey vas almost dead mid starvations. 
Dhey vere hurrying along 

Shoost as fast as dhey could ; 
Some valking on horseback, 

Some riding of foot. 
Vile ub der streed 

Came der rebel tread, 
Mid Stony-vall Jack 

Marching righd straighd on along ahead. 
As he looked from under 

Dot old slouch hadt, 
He bud up his handt, 

Und looked shoosd like dot. 

Barbara Frickey, shoost den, 

Vas looking der vindow drough ; 
Und says she, " Now, Stony-vall Jack, 

You shoost look better a leedle oud vot you do." 
" Halt !" Der dust-brown ranks 

Putty quick stood fast. 
'' Fire !" Oh, my! You should have seen 

How oud-plazed dot rifle blast ! 



And Successful Selections. 139 

It shivered dot \'indow 

Mid pains und sashes ; 
It rent dot old banner 

Mid seams und mid gashes. 
Veil ! ven everey-pody 

Saw how dot vindow glass vas spilt, 
Dey all t'ought dot old vomans 

She must be righd avay kilt. 
Bud, no ; ven she saw 

Dot flag fall down from der shtick. 
Old Barbara she caught him 

Up righd avay quick, 
Und leaning herself insi'de 

Oud dot vindow sill, 
She shook dot flag, 

By jimminy Christmas, fit to kill. 
*' Shoot, if you must, at dis old white head. 

But spare your country's flag!" 
Dot's vot she said. 

A shade of big sadness, 
A blushes of shame, 
Over der face of Stony-vall 

In vone quick second came, 
*' Who touches der hairs 
Of dot old bald head, 
Dies, like a spitz poodle — march, righd 

Straighd on along dere now !" Dot's vot he said* 
All der whole day long by dere drum.'s gay beat, 
Dhey marched over dot smoodth cobble-stone 
pavement streedt. 
Over der heads der whole day t'rough 
Waved dot old flag of red, white, black und blue! 
Stony-vall Jack has fought his last fight, 



140 Practice of Speech. 



Perhaps he vas wrong — I don't dhink he vas righd, 

But, now, dot's no difference vichever vay, 

I'll bet two dollars und a half he's all righd at der last 

big day. 
Barbara Frickey has gone to der same place mid 

Stony-vall Jack, 
From which no liven person has ever yet come back. 

My friendts, if we are safe at dot last great day — 
Of course dot is doubtful, but we hope we all may — 
If we reach dot land of der good, der brave, und der 

true, 
We'll find Stony-vall Jack und Barbara Frickey, too. 



REMEMBRANCE. 

Oft in the stilly night, 

Ere slumber's chain has bound me. 
Fond memory brings the light 

Of other days around me. 
The smiles and tears of boyhood years, 

The words of love then spoken ; 
The eyes so bright, now dimmed and gone; 

The cheerful hearts now broken ! 

When I remember all 

The friends so linked together, 
I've seen around me fall, 

Like leaves in wintry weather, 
I feel like one who treads alone 

Some banquet hall deserted, 
Whose lights are fled, whose garlands dead, 

And all save he deserted ! 
Thus in the stilly night, 

Ere slumber's chain has bound me. 
Fond memory brings the light 

Of other days around me. 



I 



And Sii^ccessful Selcctkms. 141 

EASTER MORN. 

BYRON W. KING. 

Ring out, ring out your swelling chime, 

O bells of holy Easter-tide ; 
Ring out the lofty peal sublime, 

The Love of Christ, the Crucified. 
Ring out the Story of the years, 

The Faith that triumphs over tears ; 
The Hope that holier still appears 

Above th*e Cross, whereon He died. 

And all you burning stars of night. 

That looked upon His humble birth, 
Where'er vour heaven-kindled lig-ht 

Falls on the lowly homes of earth, 
Go, bear the new^s from man to man, 

The noblest news since time began : — 
" Man is redeemed — God's wondrous plan 

Has made his life of nobler worth!" 

Ye angels, that before the throne 

The '' Holy, holy," yet repeat, 
Make ye the joyous tidings known: 

''Redemption's work is now complete." 
Join with that olden, sweet refrain, 

" Peace, peace on earth, good wall to men," 
'' He is not deadl He lives again! 

For wo behold His hands and feet !" 



FANNY AND L 

I had been very angry with Fanny, and Fanny 

had been very angry with me. She had flirted with 

Fitz Foodie, and I had revenged myself by flirting 

with Miss Brown. So we had parted. You may 



142 Practice of Speed i 



smile, but it was rather serious to me at that time. 
We had given back rings and locks of hair — mine 
was red — and letters ; and we passed each other on 
the street without a glance, and somebody told me 
she was engaged to Fitz Foodie. I don't know w^hat 
they told her, but her little face was tw^o inches longer 
than ^t used to be. 

Make up ? No, indeed, w^e never were going to 
makeup — never! There could be no reconciliation 
for us — of that I w^as sure. I wr,ote a piece of 
poetry and called it " Parted Forever," and sent it to 
the paper. The editor declined it wdth thanks. It 
was a touchino- thino;, thouo-h, I feel sure, and I shed 
tears over it. 

Of course, when I happened to meet her, I felt the 
iron pierce my soul; and when I didn't meet her for 
a long time, I was still more wretched. 

At last, one day, I stepped upon a crowded 
Brooklyn ferry boat and trod upon some one's dress. 
I apologized; she turned; it was Fanny. I gave her 
an awful look. She gave me another. Then I stared 
at nothing, and the boat started ; and a great train of 
white foam followed us; and the big towers of the 
bridge loomed up before us ; and the passengers 
pushed and poked each other ; and a woman with a 
market basket, with Sausage and Limburger Cheese in 
'it, stood back to back with Fanny ; and an infant with 
molasses candy took hold of my coat sleeve with its 
sticky hand, while its mother instructed it that I wasn't 
pa ; and the horses attached to the wagons stamped 
about; and I was within an inch of Fanny — Fanny 
whom I used to kiss as much as I liked — and dared 
not touch her; and I thought of plunging overboard 



And Successful Selections. 143 



and dyiiiL^ before her eyes — when, crash ! crash ! 
crash! The most awful noise, the most horrible ring- 
ing, clanging sound, bursting on our ears, and every 
man said words not in the catechism ; and some one 
called out : " The boiler is burst and we're all going 
to the bottom!" And I — what I cried out was, 
'' Fanny !" and what she cried out was, '' Will !" and 
now I had her in my arms. I held her close, and 
said, ''Oh, Fanny, Fanny!" and she sobbed, ''Oh, 
Will, Will!" 

'^ Oh, forgive me, Fanny," I said; " we can't die 
angry with each other !" 

"Oh, forgive me, Will," said she, "it was all my 
fault." " Oh, no," said I, " it was all mine ; but we'll 
die together, darling. Better die than live apart." 

"Oh, no," said she, " not now ; we must live for 
each other. Oh, save me ! try to save me ! — try to 
save me !" 

" I will," I said; "Til try to swim, Fanny; Til 
get a life-preserver." 

I dragged her toward the spot where the life- 
preservers were kept and handsd one down. I did 
not notice what other people were doing — I did not 
care. I fastened the preserver about Fanny, and put 
another about my o\\n\ body and took her in my 
arms. In a moment more I should have jumped over 
with her, but some one caught my coat tails. 

"Stop!" said a voice. "I say — are you going 
crazy ? There's nothin' the matter. The boiler isn't 
bursted. The noise was only a lot of iron bars and 
rails spilled out of a wagon over there. It skeered 
most of us, but we've all come to ourselves but you." 

So they had. Most of them stood grinning at 
us ; and Fanny grew red as a rose as I unharnessed 



144 Practice of Speech 



her, and then took off my own hfe-saving jacket. We 
had quite restored the spirits of the company, 
especially the lady with the Limburger in a basket, 
who evidently thought us the greatest joke of the 
season. But what did it matter? We owed too 
much to that foolish fright to mind being laughed at ; 
and as I tucked the dear girl's arm under mine at 
the dock, I felt happier than a king. 

A man was driving slowly before us with a load 
of iron bars in his wagon. 

^' Are you the man that scared us all on the boat, 
just now^?" 

" Yes, but it's none of your business," said he. 

I gave him five dollars on the spot, and I suppose 
he thought I was crazy. He did not know what he 
had done for us. 



EVENING BELLS. 

MOORE. 

Those evening bells ! Those evening bells I 
How many a tale their music tells 
Of youth and home, and that sweet time. 
When first I heard their pleasing chime ! 

Those happy hours have passed away. 
And many a heart that then w^as gay 
Within the tomb now darkly dwells, 
And hears no more those evening bells. 

And so 'twill be when I am gone, 
That tuneful peal will still ring on! 
While other bards will walk these dells 
And sing your praise, sweet evening bells. 



And Successful Selections, 145 



ASLEEP AT THE SWITCH. 

GEORGE HOEY. 

The first thing that I remembered was Carlo tugging 

away 
With the sleeve of my coat fast in his teeth, pulling, as 

much as to say : 
'' Come, master, awake, attend to the switch, lives now 

depend upon you, 
Think of the souls on the coming train, and the graves 

you are sending them to. 
Think of the mother and the babe at her breast, think 

of the father and son, * 
Think of the lover and loved one too, think of them 

doomed every one 
To fall (as it were by your very hand) into yon 

fathomless ditch, 
Murdered by one who should guard them from harm, 

who now lies asleep at the switch !" 

I sprang up amazed — scarce knew where I stood, 

sleep had o'ermastered me so ; 
I could hear the wind hollowly howling, and the deep 

river dashing below^ 
I could hear the forest leaves rustling, as the trees by 

the tempest were fanned. 
But what was that noise in the distance ? That, I 

could not understand. 
I heard it at .first indistinctly, like the rolling of some 

muffled drum, 
Then nearer and nearer it came to me, till it made my 

very ears hum; 
What is this light that surrounds me and seems to set 

fire to my brain? 



146 Practice of Speech 

What whistle's that, yelHng so shrill ? Ah ! I know 
now : it's the train ! 

We often stand facing some danger, and seem to take 

root to the place ; 
So I stood — with this demon before me, — its heated 

breath scorching my face ; 
Its headlight made day of the darkness, and glared 

like the eyes of some witch, — 
The train was almost upon me, before I remembered 

the switch. 
I sprang to it, seizing it wildly, the train dashing fast 

down the track ; 
The switch resisted my efforts, some devil seemed 

holding it back ; 
On, on came the fiery-eyed monster, and shot by my 

face like a flash ; 
I swooned to the earth the next moment, and knew 

nothing after the crash. 

How long I lay there unconscious, 'twas impossible 

for me to tell ; 
My stupor was almost a heaven, my waking almost a 

hell,— 
For I then heard the piteous moaning, and shrieking 

of husbands and wives, 
And I thought of the day w^e all shrink from, when I 

must account for their lives ; 
Mothers rushed by me like maniacs, their eyes glaring 

madly and wild ; 
Fathers, losing their courage, gave way to their grief 

like a child ; 
Children searching for parents, I noticed, as by me 

they sped. 



And Successful Selections. 147 

And lips that could form naught but " Mamma," were 
callin^^ for one perhaps dead. 

My mind was made up in a moment, the river should 

hide me awa)' ! 
When under the still burning rafters I suddenly 

noticed there lay 
A little white hand ; she who owmed it, was doubtless 

an object of love 
To one w^hom her loss would drive frantic, tho' she 

guarded him now from above ; 
I tenderly lifted the rafters, and quietly laid them one 

side ; 
How little she thought of her journey, when she left 

for this dark, fatal ride ! 
I lifted the last log from off her, and while searching 

for some spark of life. 
Turned her little face up in the starlight, and 

recognized — Maggie, my wife ! 

O Lord ! thy scourge is a hard one, at one blow^ thou 

hast shattered my pride ; 
My life will be one endless nightmare, wath Maggie 

away from my side. 
How often I'd sat down and pictured the scenes in 

our long, happy life ; 
How I'd strive through all my life-time, to build up a 

home for my wife ; 
How people would envy us always in our cozy and 

neat little nest ; 
How^ I should do all the labor, and Maggie should 

all the day rest ; . 

How one of God's blessings might cheer us, how 

some day I perhaps should be rich ; — 



148 Practice of Speech 



But all of my dreams had been shattered, while I 
lay there asleep at the switch ! 

I fancied I stood on my trial, the jury and judge I 

could see ; 
And every eye in the court room, was steadily fixed 

upon me ; 
And fingers were pointed in scorn, till I felt my face 

blushing blood-red, 
And the next thing I heard were the w^ords, '' Hanged 

by the neck until dead." 
Then I felt myself pulled once again, and my hand 

caught tight hold of a dress. 
And I heard, " What's the matter, dear Jim? You've 

had a bad nightmare, I guess!" 
And there stood Maggie, my wife, with never a scar 

from the ditch ! 
I'd been taking a nap in my bed, and had not been 

'' Asleep at the switch." 



MR. AND MRS. BOWSER. 

MRS. BOW^SER. 

Mr. Bowser came home the other afternoon just 
in time to meet the cook going away with her bundle, 
and he rushed into the house to inquire : 

'' I suppose you've gone and done it again?" 

''What?" 

"Abused and maltreated the girl until her sense 
of justice has compelled her to leave." 

'' I hadn't anything to do with her leaving." 

*' Then who had ? She looked heart-broken as I 
passed hei: just now." 

''Did she? Poor thing! She got a letter this 
morning from her aunt in Canada, telling her that she 



And Successful Selections. 149 



had been left $5,000 in cash, and advising her to come 
home and marry a man who owns three farms. She 
must feel very sorrowful!" 

" Humph ! And you didn't put too much work 
on her?" 

"No." 

'' Nor make her feel her position ?" 

" No. Her position was in the parlor about half 
the time." 

'' Well, it seems very queer to me that so many 
of our girls leave. Everything will be upset now for 
a w^eek, I suppose." 

'' Oh, no. You can cook, you know, and you are 
such a sympathetic soul that you ought to be willing 
to go into the kitchen for a day or two. I shall de- 
pend on you, Mr. Bowser." 

''Oh, you will? Not satisfied with driving a 
dozen poor souls to destruction, you want a rub at 
me ! I wouldn't have your spirit for all the money in 
the world !" 

He went away w4th that, but he was home an 
hour earlier than usual, and when I inquired the 
cause, he said : 

" What for ? Why, the child and I have got to 
have something to eat, haven't we; and w^ho's to cook 
it if I don't take hold ?" 

"I can cook." 

" Mrs. Bowser, I've long felt it my duty to give 
you a few^ lessons in the culinary art. I have held off, 
hoping your pride w^ould force you to take hold, but 
the limit has been reached. The time has come when 
I must sacrifice my business to enter my kitchen and 
prevent my child from feeling the pangs of hunger." 

'' Please don't." 



150 Practice of Speech 

" But I will. I'm driven to it. I've got a wife 
who can't cook the northwest end of a last year's 
turnip, and who can't keep a cook over a w^eek at a 
time. I've put up with it too long — much too long, 
Mrs. Bowser. I must sacrifice my dignity to preserve 
the life of my child." 

" Shan't I help you get supper?" 

" Not a help. You'd only be in the way. Just 
sit down in the rocker, Mrs. Bowser, put your feet on 
the lounge, get a piece of gum in your mouth, and sit 
and chew and chew, and think what mean things you 
are going to say to the next girl, to drive her away. 
When supper is ready I will call your royal highness." 

He disappeared with that. 

When he reached the kitchen he took off his cufls 
and coat, pushed up his sleeves, and kindled a fire. 
His confidence began to desert him at this point, and 
he seemed to be studying deeply as he filled the tea- 
kettle even full and set it to boil. I had some fresh 
beef-steak in the ice box, and he got it out, scratched 
his head in a thoughtful way, and laid it on the kitchen 
table. Then he went down cellar after the hatchet, 
wiped the head of it on his right leg, and pounded 
away until a good share of the steak had gone into the 
board. 

Mr. Bowser's next move was to hunt behind the 
pantry door for a spider, which we had never used. 
He carried it to the kitchen towel, gave it a wipe, and 
then placed it on the stove. He had heard that grease 
was necessary, and he put in some butter, dropped in 
his steak and soon had it sizzling. Then he started in 
for the biscuit. He got down the dish-pan, filled it 
almost full, and then reflected for a moment. I took 



And Successful Selections . 151 

advantage of the occasion to open the door and re- 
mark : 

" Mr. Bowser, you needn't figure on an elaborate 
supper, under the circumstances. Just make us a cup 
of tea, and we'll gret aloncr." 

" Mrs. Bowser, you ought to know by this time 
that there is no half-way work with me," he replied, 
with great frigidity. '' You can afford to neglect the 
comfort of this family, but I cannot. Please return to 
your gum and your novel." 

Then he went ahead just as any other husband 
Avould. 

He had heard about soda and shortening in bis- 
cuit, and he mixed the flour with cold water, put in 
pepper and salt, slashed off half a pound of butter, and 
stirred it in, and then remembered the baking powder. 
There w^as nearly a quarter of a pound in the box, and 
the whole of it went in. 

How Mr. Bowser managed to get a grease spot 
between his shoulder-blades, flour on his hair and 
baking powder in his hind pocket, I do not know, but 
it was probably while he was rolling that mass out. 
He didn't trifle with the mixing-board, but used the 
spot where he had pounded the beef I heard the mass 
of dough fall to the floor three different times with a 
dull thud, but he wasn't a bit discouraged. He got 
it rolled out at last, cut some biscuits with a tea-cup, 
and presently the oven door shut on his tins. He had 
just forty biscuits. 

By this time the steak had burned black on both 
sides, and he set it down behind the stove and pre- 
pared the tea. To two quarts of water he used one 
teaspoonful. Ten minutes later he summoned me to 



152 Practice of Speech 



the banquet. He had the table-cloth on criss-cross, 
the butter on a pie-plate, the cake in the cheese dish, 
and his beef-steak was placed in the center of the 
table on a pie-tin. 

'' Anything wrong?" he asked, as I sat down. 

'' Oh, no. You have done splendidly." 

'' I am aware of it. This table has never looked 
so home-like before." 

His biscuits were raw in the middle, while top and 
bottom were so wonderfully and fearfully made that I 
had to laugh. 

"The biscuit: you can't beat 'em. Wait till you 
taste one." 

I didn't taste, but he did. I was watching him, 
and a look of horror came over his face at the first 
mouthful. He wouldn't give in, however, but crowded 
a whole biscuit down, and pretended to enjoy it. 

" I wouldn't eat any of that steak, Mr. Bowser," 
I said, as he eyed it suspiciously. 

" Wouldn't \'ou ? Perhaps you want it all your- 
self" 

'' I don't think it is properly cooked." 

''Well, I do! If that isn't a nice steak, then we 
never have had one in this house." 

He ate at lea t a quarter of a pound, though every 
morsel choked him. I offered to wash up the dishes, 
but he put me out of the kitchen and went ahead. 
He washed everx'ihing together in the flour-pan, 
wiped them on \v liatever he could find loose, and it 
was a wev k b.^f e v/j got the pantry in order again. 
That ni^hu aiee . /a ?-o-inp; of what a breakfast he was 
going to got, M: 
colic, and when 
the beef and tht- :i it, he saiJ: 



And Successful Selections. 153 



'' Mr. Bowser, if you hadn't the stomacli of a 
shark you'd have been dead an hour ago. You'd 
better quit this sort of nonsense if you want to Hve 
the year out." 

And as soon as we were alone Mr. Bowser turned 
on me with : 

'' Don't expect me to shield you again ! Your 
jealousy prompted you to put poison into that flour 
while I was down cellar ! If this thing occurs again 
I will send you to the gallows !" 



MISS EDITH HELPS THINGS ALONG. 

BRET HARTE. 

"' My sister'U be down in a minute, and says you're to 
wait, if you please; 

And says I might stay till she came, if I'd promise 
her never to tease, 

Nor speak till you spoke to me first. But that's non- 
sense ; for how would you know 

What she told me to say, if I didn't ? Don't you 
really and truly think so ? 

'' And then you'd feel strange here alone. And you 

wouldn't know just where to sit; 
For that chair isn't strong on its legs, and we never 

use it a bit : 
We keep it to match with the sofa ; but Jack says it 

would be like you 
To flop yourself right down upon it, and knock out 

the very last screw. 



154 Practice of Speech 



''Suppose you try! I won't tell. You're afraid to f 

Oh! you're afraid they would think it was mean! 
Well, then, there's the album: that's pretty, if you're 

sure that your fingers are clean. 
For sister says sometimes I daub it ; but she only 

says that when she's cross. 
There's her picture. You know it? It's like her; 

but she ain't as good-looking, of course. 

*' This is ME. It's the best of 'em all. Now^, tell me, 
you'd never have thought 

That once I was little as that ? It's the only one that 
could be bought ; 

For that was the message to pa from the photograph- 
man where I sat, — 

That he wouldn't print ofif any more, till he first got 
his money for that. 

*' What ? Maybe you're tired of waiting. Why, often 

she's longer than this. 
There's all her back hair to do up, and all of her front 

curls to friz. 
But it's nice to be sitting here talking like grown 

people, just you and me ! 
Do you think you'll be coming here often? Oh, do! 

But don't come like Tom Lee, — 
"Tom Lee, her last beau. Why, my goodness ! he 

used to be here day and night. 
Till the folks thought he'd be her husband; and Jack 

says that gave him a fright 
You won't run away then, as he did? for you're not a 

rich man, they say. 
Pa says you're poor as a church-mouse. Now, are 

you, and how poor are they ? 



uAnd Successful Selections. 155 

"Ain't you glad that you met me? Well, I am; for 

I know now your hair isn't red ; 
" But what there is left of it's mousy, and not what 

that naughty Jack said. 
But there I I must go ; sister's coming I But I wish 

I could wait, just to see 
If she ran up to you, and kissed you, in the way she 

used to kiss Lee." 



BILLY GRIMES, THE DROVER. 
" To-morrow, ma, I'm sweet sixteen, 

And Billy Grimes, the drover. 
Has popped the question to me, ma, 

And wants to be my lover ; 
To-morrow morn, he says, mamma. 

He's coming here quite early, 
To take a pleasant walk with me 

Across the field of barley." 

" You must not go, my daughter dear, 

There's no use now a- talking; 
You shall not go across the field 

With Billy Grimes a-walking. 
To think of his presumption, too. 

The dirty, ugly drover ! 
I w^onder where your pride has gone, 

To think of such a lover !" 

'* Old Grimes is dead, you know, mamma. 

And Billy is so lonely ; 
Besides, they say, to Grimes' estate. 

That Billy is the only 
Surviving heir to all that's left ; 

And that they say is nearly 
A good ten thousand dollars, ma — 

And quite six hundred yearly!" 



156 Practice of Speech 



" I did not hear, my daughter dear, 

Your last remark quite clearly, 
But Billy is a clever lad, 

And no doubt loves you dearly ; 
Remember then^ to-morrow morn. 

To be up bright and early, 
To take a pleasant walk with him 

Across the field of barley!" 



THROUGH THE TUNNEL. 

Riding up from Bangor, 

On the *' Eastern " train, 
From a six weeks shooting 

In the woods of Maine ; 
Quite extensive whiskers. 

Beard, mustache as well. 
Sat a " student fellow," 

Tall, and fine, and swell. 

Empty seat behind him. 

No one at his side ; 
To a pleasant station 

Now the train doth glide, 
Enter aged couple. 

Take the hinder seat. 
Enter gentle maiden. 

Beautiful, petite. 

Blushingly she falters, 

'' Is this seat engaged?" 
(See the aged couple 

Properly enraged); 
Student, quite ecstatic. 

Sees her ticket's '* through," 
Thinks of the long tunnel — 

Thinks what he might do. 



And Successful Selections. 157 



So they sit and chatter, 

While the cinders fly, 
Till that " student fellow " 

Gets one in his eye ; 
And the gentle maiden 

Quickly turns about — 
" May I, if you please, sir. 

Try to get it out?" 

Happy " student fellow " 

Feels a dainty touch ; 
Hears a gentle whisper, 

'' Does it hurt you much ?" 
Fizz, ding, dong ! a moment 

In the tunnel quite, 
And its- glorious darkness 

Black as Egypt's night. 

Out into the daylight 

Darts the '' Eastern " train ; 
Student's beaver ruffled 

Just the merest grain ; 
Maiden's hair is tumbled, 

And there soon appeared 
Cunning little earring 

Caught in student's beard. 



SURLY TIM'S TROUBLE. 

It so happened that passing one night, and glan- 
cing in among the graves and marble monuments, I 
caught sight of a dark figure sitting upon a little 
mound and resting its head upon its hands, and I 
recognized the muscular outline of the man, called by 
his fellow-workmen, Surly Tim. 



158 Practice of Speech 

He did not see me at first, but as I half turned 
away,, he hfted his head and saw me standing in the 
bright, clear moonlight 

''Who's theer?" he said. '' Dos't ta want owt ?" 

'' It is only I. What is the matter, old fellow ? I 
thought I heard you groan just now\" 

'' \^o mought ha done, Mester. Happen tha did. 
I dunnot know mysen. Nowts th' matter, though, as 
I knows on, on'y I'm a bit out o' soar.ts." 

He turned his head aside slightly and began to 
pull at the blades of grass on the mound, and all at 
once, I saw that his hand was trembling nervously. 

''That un belongs to me," he said, suddenly, at 
last, pointing to a longer mound at his feet. "An' 
this little un. A little lad o' mine — a little lad o' mine 
an' — an' his mother." 

"What!" I exclaimed, "I never knew that you 
were a married man, Tim." 

" Th' law says I beant, Mester," he answered, in 
a painful, strained fashion. " I canna tell mysen what 
God-a'-moighty 'ud say about it." 

"I don't understand," I faltered. "You don't 
mean to say the poor girl never was your wife?" 

"That's what th' law says ; I thowt different 
mysen, an' so did th' poor lass. That's what's the 
matter, Mester ; that's th' trouble. 

" It wor w^elly about six years ago I cumn here," 
he said ; " .more or less, welly about six years. I w^or 
a quiet chap then, Mester, an' had na many friends, 
but I had more than I ha' now. Happen I w^or better 
nater'd, but just as loike I wor loighter hearted — but 
that's nowt to do wi' it. 

" I had na been here more than a week when theer 
comes a young woman to moind a loom i' th' next 



And Successful Selections. 159 

room to me, an' this young woman, bein' pretty an' 
modest, takes my fancy. She war na loike th' rest o' 
the wenches — loud talkin' an' slattern i' her ways, she 
wor just quiet loike and nowt else. First time I seed 
her 1 says to my sen, ' Theer's a lass 'at's seed trouble ; 
an' somehow every toime I seed her afterward I says 
to mysen, ' Theer's a lass 'at's seed trouble.' It wur 
in her eye — she had a soft loike brown eye, Mester — 
an' it wur in her voice — her voice wur soft loike, too 
— I sometimes thowt it wur plain to be seed even i' 
her dress. If she'd been born a lady, she'd ha' been 
one o' th' foine soart, an' as she'd been born a factory 
lass, she w^ur one o' th' foine soart still. So I took to 
watchin' her an' tryin' to mak' friends \\i her, but I 
never had much luck wi' her till one neet I was goin' 
home through th' snow, and I seed her afore, fighten' 
th' drift wi' nowt but a thin shawl ov^er her head ; so I 
goes up behind her an' I says to her, steady and 
respectful, so as she w^ould na be feart, I says : 

" ' Lass, let me see thee home. It's bad w^eather 
fur thee to be out in by thysen. Tak' my coat, an' 
wrop thee up in it, an' tak' hold o' my arm an' let me 
help thee along.' 

'' She looks up right straight forrad i' my face wi' 
her brown eyes, an' I tell yo, Mester, I wur glad I wur 
an honest man 'stead o' a rascal, fur them quiet eyes 
'ud ha fun me out before I'd ha' done sayin' my say if 
I'd meant harm. 

''So w^e walks home to her- lodgings, an' on th' 
way we talks together friendly an' quiet loike, an' th' 
more we talks th' more I sees she's had trouble, an' by 
an' by it comes out w^hat her trouble has been. 

'* ' Yo p'rhaps wouldn't think I've been a married 
woman, Mester,' she says ; ' but I ha', an' I wedded 



160 Practice of Speech 

an' rued. I married a sojer when I wur a giddy^ 
young wench, four years ago, an' it wur th' worst 
thing as ever I did i' aw my days. He wur one o' 
yo're handsome fastish chaps, an' he tired o' me an' 
then he ill-treated me. He went to the Crimea after 
we'd been wed a year ; an' I heard six month after 
he wur dead. He'd never writ back to me nor sent 
me no help, but I couldna think he wur dead till th' 
letter comn. He wur killed th' first month he wur 
out fightin' th' Rooshians. Poor fellow ! Poor Phil ! 
Th' Lord ha mercy on him !' 

'' That wur how I found out about her trouble,, 
an' somehow it seemed to draw me to her, an' make 
me feel kindly to'ards her. 'T wur so pitiful to hear 
her talk about th' rascal, so sorrowful, an' gentle, an' 
not gi' him a real hard word for a' he'd done. 

'' Rosanna Brent an' me got to be good friends, 
an' we walked home together o' nights, an' talked 
about our bits o' wage, an' our bits o' debt, an' th' 
way that wench 'ud keep me up i' spirits when I wur 
a bit down-hearted about owt, wur just a wonder. 
An' bein' as th' lass w^ur so dear to me, I made up my 
mind to ax her to be summat dearer. So once goin' 
home along wi' her, I takes hold o' her hand an' lifts 
it up an' kisses it gentle — as gentle an' wi' summat 
th' same feelin' as I'd kiss th' Good Book. 

'' ' 'Sanna,' I says ; ' bein ' as yo've had so much 
trouble wi' yo're first chance, would yo' be afeard to 
try a second? Could yo' trust a mon again? Such 
a mon as me, ' 'Sanna? ' 

'' ' I wouldna be feart to trust thee, Tim,' she 
answers back, soft an' gentle after a manner. ' I 
wouldna be feart to trust thee any time.' 

'H kisses her hand again, gentler still. 



I 



And Successful Selections. 161 

" * God bless thee, lass,' I says. ' Does that mean 
yes ? ' 

•' She crept up closer to me i' her sweet, quiet 
\va)\ 

'* ' Aye, lad,' she answers. ' It means yes, an' I'll 
bide by it.' 

" 'An' tha shalt never rue it, lass,' said I. 'Tha's 
gi'en thy life to me, an' I'll gi' mine to thee, sure and 
true.' 

'' So we wur axed i' th' church t' next Sunday, an' 
a month fra then we were wed, an' if ever God's sun 
shone on a happy mon, it shone on one that day, 
when we come out o' church together — me and 
Rosanna — an' w^ent to our bit o' a home to begin life 
again. I couldna tell thee, Mester — theer beant no 
w^ords to tell how happy an peaceful we lived fur two 
year after that. My lass never altered her sweet ways,, 
an' I just loved her to make up to her fur what had 
gone by. I thanked God-a'-moighty fur His blessing 
every day, an' every day I prayed to be made worth}^ 
of it. An' here's just wheer I'd like to ax a question, 
Mester, about summat 'ats worretted me a good deal. 
I dunnot w^ant to question th' Maker, but I would 
loike to know how it is 'at sometime it seems at we're 
clean forgot — as if He couldna trouble hissen about 
our troubles, an' most loike left 'em to work out 
theirsens. Yo see, Mester, an' we aw see sometime, 
He thinks on us an' gi's us a lift, but hasna tha thysen 
seen times when tha stopt short an' axed thysen, 
'Wheer's God-a'-moighty 'at he disna straighten things 
out a bit? Th' world's i' a power o' a snarl. Th' 
righteous is forsaken 'n his seed's beggin' bread. An' 
th' devil's topmost again.' I've talked to my lass 
about it sometimes, an' I dunnot think I meant harm, 



162 Practice of Speech 



Mester^ for I felt humble enough — an' when I talked, 
my lass she'd listen an' smile soft an' sorrowful, but 
she never gi' me but one answer. 

'' 'Tim,' she'd say, 'this is on'y th' skoo', an' 
we're th' scholars, an' He's teachin' us His way. Th' 
teacher wouldna be o' much use, Tim, if th' scholars 
knew as much as he did, an' I allers think it's th' best 
to comfort mysen wi' sayin'^ Th' Lord-a'-moighty, He 
knows.' 

'' At th' eend o' th' year th' child wur born, th' 
little lad here," touching the turf with his hand 
" ' Wee Wattie,' his mother ca'd him, and he wur a 
fine lightsome little chap. He filled th' whole house 
wi' music day in an' day out, crowin' an' crowin' — an' 
cryin' too sometime. 

'' Well, Mester, before th' spring wur out Wee 
Wat was toddin' round holdin' to his mother's gown, 
an' by th' middle o' th' next he was cooin' like a dove, 
an' prattlin' words i' a voice like hers. Happen we 
set too much store by him, or happen it wur on'y th' 
Teacher again teachin' us His way, but hows'ever 
that wur, I came home one sunny mornin' fro' th' 
factory, an' my dear lass met me at th' door, all white 
an' cold, but tryin' hard to be brave an' help me to 
bear what she had to tell. 

" ^ Tim/ said she, ' th' Lord ha' sent us trouble; 
but we can bear it together, canna we, dear lad ? ' 

*' That wor aw, but I knew what it meant, though 
th' poor little lamb had been well enough when I kissed 
him last. 

" I went in an' saw him lyin' theer on his pillows, 
strugglin' an' gaspin' in hard convulsions, an' I seed 
aw was over. An' in half an hour, just as the sun 



Aiid Successftil Selections. 163 

crept across th' room an' touched his curls, th' pretty 
little chap opens his eyes aw at once. 

" ' Daddy ! ' he crows out. ' Sithee Dad — ! ' an' 
he lifts hissen up, catches at th' floatin' sunshine, 
laughs at it, and fa's back — dead, Mester. 

*' I 'v^e allers thowt 'at th' Lord-a'-moighty knew 
what he wur doin' when he gi' th' woman t' Adam i' 
th' Garden o' Eden. He knowed he wor nowt but a 
poor chap as couldna do fur hissen ; an' I suppose 
that's th' reason he gi' th' woman th' strength to bear 
trouble w^hen it comn. I'd ha' gi'en clean in if it 
hadna been fur my lass when th' little chap deed. 

'' But the day comn w^hen we could bear to talk 
about him and moind things he'd said an' tried to say 
I his broken babby way. An' so we were creepin' 
back again to th' old happy quiet, an' we had been 
for welly six month, when summat fresh come. I'll 
never forget it, Mester, th' neet it happened. I'd 
kissed Rosanna at th' door an' left her standin' theer 
when I w^ent up to th' village to buy summat she 
wanted. It wur a bright moonlight neet, just such a 
neet as this, an th' lass had followed me out to see th' 
moonshine, it wur so bright an' clear; an' just before 
I starts she folds both her hands on my shoulder an' 
says, soft and thoughtful: 

" ' Tim, I wonder if th' little chap sees us ?' 

" ' I'd loike to know, dear lass,' I answers back. 
An' then she speaks again : 

'' ' Tim, I w^onder if he'd know he was ours if he 
could see, or if he'd ha' forgot ? He wur such a little 
fellow.' 

" Them wur th' last peaceful words I ever heerd 
her speak. I went up to th' village an' getten what 
she sent me fur, an' then I comn back. 



164 Practice of Speech 



'' She wasna outside, an' I couldna see a leet about 
th' house, but I heerd voices, so I walked straight in 
— into th' entry an' into th' kitchen, an' theer she wur, 
Mester — my poor wench, crouchin' down by th' table, 
hidin' her face i' her hands, an' close beside her wur a 
mon — a mon i' red sojer clothes. 

'' My heart leaped into my throat, an' fur a minnit 
I hadna a word. 

'^ ' Good-evenin', Mester,' I says to him ; ' I hope 
yo ha' not broughten ill news ? What ails thee, dear 
lass ?' 

'' She stirs a little, an' gives a moan like a dyin' 
child ; an' then she lifts up her wan, broken-hearted 
face, an' stretches out both her hands to me. 

'''Tim,' she says, ' dunnot hate me, lad, dunnot 
I thowt he wur dead long sin'. I thowt 'at th' Roo- 
shians killed him an' I wur free, but I amna. I never 
wur. He never deed, Tim, an' theer he is — the mon 
as I wur wed to an' left by. God lorgi' him, an' oh, 
God forgi' me !' 

'' Theer, Mester, theer's a story fur thee. My poor 
lass wasna my wife at aw — th' little chap's mother 
wasna his feyther's wife, an' never had been. That 
theer worthless fellow as beat an' starved her, an' left 
her to fight th' world alone, had comn back alive an' 
well. He could tak' her away fro' me any hour i' th' 
day, an' I couldna say a word to bar him. Th' law 
said my wife — th' little dead lad's mother — belonged 
to him body an' soul. Theer was no law to help us — 
it wur aw on his side. 

'' ' Tha canna want me now, Phil,' she said. 'Tha 
canna care fur me. Tha must know I'm more this 
mon's wife than thine. But I dunnot ax thee to gi' 
me to him, because I know that wouldna be reet; I 



And Successful Selections. 165 

on'y ax thee to let me aloan. I'll go fur enough off 
an' never see him more.' 

'' But the villain held to her. If she didna come 
wi' him, he said, he'd ha' us up before th' court fur 
bigamy. I could ha' done murder then, Mester, an' I 
would ha' done, if it hadna been for th' poor lass run- 
nin' in betwixt us, an' pleadin' wi' aw her might. If 
we'n been rich foak theer might ha' been some help 
fur her; at least, th' law might ha' been browt to mak' 
him leave her be, but bein' poor workin^ foak, theer 
was on'y one thing : th' wife mun go wi' th' husband, 
an' theer th' husband stood — a scoundrel, cursing, wi' 
his black heart on his tongue. 

" ' Well,' says th' lass at last, fair wearied out wi' 
grief, ' I'll go wi' thee, Phil, an' I'll do my best to 
please thee, but I wunnot promise to forget th' mon as 
has been true to me, an' has stood betwixt me an' th' 
world.' 

''Then she turned round to me. 

** ' Tim,' she says, ' surely he w^unnot refuse to let 
us go together to th' little lad's grave — fur th' last 
time.' She didna speak to him, but to me, an' she 
spoke still an' strained as if she wur too heart-broke 
to be wild. Her face was as white as th' dead, but she 
didna cry, as any other woman would ha' done. 
* Come, Tim,' she said, ' he canna say no to that.' 

*' An' so out w^e went, an' we didna say a word 
until we come to this very place, Mester. 

" We stood here for a minute silent, an' then I 
sees her begin to shake, an' she throws hersen down 
on th' grass wi' her arms flung o'er th' grave, an' she 
cries out as ef her death-wound had been give to 
her. 

" 'Little lad,' she says, 'little lad, dost ta see thee 



166 Practice of Speech 



mother ? Canst na tha hear her calHn' thee ? Little 
lad, get nigh to th' Throne an* plead !' 

'' I fell down beside o' th' poor crushed wench 
an' sobbed wi' her. I couldna comfort her, fur wheer 
wur there any comfort for us? Theer wur none left 
— theer wur no hope. We was shamed an' broke 
down — our lives was lost. Th' past wur nowt — ^th* 
future wur worse. Oh, my poor lass, how hard she 
tried to pray — fur me, Mester — yes, fur me, as she lay 
theer wi' her arms round her dead babby's grave, an* 
her cheek on th' grass as grew o'er his breast. 

" Lord God-a'-moighty,' she says, 'help us — dunnot 
gi' us up — dunnot, dunnot. We canna do 'thowt thee 
now, if th' time ever wur when we could. Th' 
little chap mun be wi' Thee, I moind th' bit o' com- 
fort about getherin' th' lambs i' His bosom. Oh, 
Feyther! help th' poor lad here — help him. Let th' 
weight fa' on me, not on him. Just help th' poor lad 
to bear it If ever I did owt as wur worthy i' Thy 
sight, let that be my reward. Dear Lord-a'-moighty, 
I'd be willin' to gi' up a bit o' my own heavenly glory 
fur th' dear lad's sake.' 

'' Happen th' Lord had hearkened — happen He 
had, fur when she getten up^ her face looked to me 
aw white an' shinin' i' th' clear moonlight. 

'' ' Sit down by me, dear lad,' she said, 'an' hold 
my hand a minnit.' 

'' ' I want thee to mak' me a promise,' said she. 
' I want thee to promise never to forget what peace 
we ha' had. I want thee to remember it alius, an' to 
moind him 'at's dead, an' let his little hand howd thee 
back fro' sin an' hard thowts. I'll pray fur thee neet 
an' day, Tim, an' tha shalt pray fur me, an' happen 
theer '11 come a leet. But ef theer dunnot, dear lad — 



And Successful Selections. 167 



an' I dunnot see how theer could — ef theer dunnot, 
an' we never see each other agen, I want thee to mak' 
me a promise that if tha sees th' little chap first tha 'It 
moind him o'me, an' watch out wi' him nigh th' gate, 
an' I'll promise thee that if I see him first, I'll moind 
him o' thee an' watch out true an' constant.' 

'' I promised her, Mester, as yo' can guess, an' 
we kneeled down an' kissed th' grass, an' she took a 
'bit o' th' sod to put i' her bosom. An' then we stood 
up an' looked at each other, an' at last she put her 
dear face on my breast an' kissed me, as she had done 
every neet sin' we were mon an' wife. 

" ^ Good-bye, dear lad,' she whispers — her voice 
aw broken. ' Doant come back to th' house till I'm 
gone. Good-bye, dear, dear lad, an' God bless thee.' 
An' she slipped out o' my arms an' w^ur gone in a 
moment awmost before I could cry out. 

"Theer is na much more to tell^ Mester — th' 
eend's comin' now. I lived alone here, an' worked, 
an' moinded my own business, an' answered no ques- 
tions fur nigh about a year, hearin' nowt, an' seein' 
nowt, an' hopin' nowt, till one toime, when th' daisies'' 
were blowin' on th' little grave here, theer come to 
me a letter fro' Manchester fro' one o' th' medical 
chaps i' th' hospital. It wur a short letter, wi' print 
on it, an' the moment I seed it I knowed summat wur 
up, an' I opened it tremblin'. Mester, theer wur a 
woman lyin' i' one o' th' wards dyin' o' some long- 
named heart-disease, an' she'd prayed 'em to send fur 
me, an' one o' th' young soft-hearted ones had writ 
me a line to let me know. 

'*I started aw'most afore I'd finished readin' th' 
letter, an' when I getten to th' place I fun just what I 



168 Practice of Speech 



knowed I should. I fun her — my wife — th' blessed lass. 

I knelt down by th' bedside an' I plead wi' her as 
she lay theer, until I browt her back to th' world agin 
fur one moment. Her eyes flew wide open at onct 
and she seed me ar' smiled, aw her dear face quivering 
i' death. 

'' ' Dear lad,' she whispered, ' th' path was na so 
long after aw. Th' Lord knew — He trod it hissen 
onct, yo know. I know tha'd come — I prayed so. 
I Ve reached th' very eend, now, Tim, an' I shall see th' 
little lad first. But I wunnot forget my promise — no. 
I'll look out — for thee — for thee — at'th' gate" 

"An' her eyes shut slow an' quiet, an' I knowed 
she was dead. 

'' Theer, Mester Doncaster, theer it aw is, for theer 
she lies under th' daisies cloost by her child, fur I 
browt her here an' buried her. Th' fellow as come 
betwixt us had tortured her fur a while an' then left 
her again. It wur heart-disease as killed her, the 
medical chaps said, but I know^ed better — it wur 
heart-break. That's aw. Sometimes I think o'er it 
till I canna stand it any longer, an' I'm fain to come 
here an' lay my hand on th' grass — an' sometimes I 
ha' queer dreams about her. I had one last neet. I 
thowt 'at she come to me aw at onct just as she used 
to look, on'y wi' her white face shinin' loike a star, 
an' she says, ' Tim, th' path isna so long after aw — 
tha's come nigh to th' eend, an' me an' th' little 
chap is waitin.' 

"That's why I comn here to-neet, Mester; an' 
I believe that's why I've talked so free to thee. If I'm 
near th' eend, I'd loike some one to know. I ha' 
meant no hurt when I seemed grum an' surly. It 
wurna ill-will, but a heavy heart." 



And Successful Selections. 169 

ALONE. 

R. J. BURDETTE. 

Since she went home, — 
The evening shadows Hnger longer here, 
The winter days fill so much of the year, 
And even summer winds are chill and drear, 

Since she went home. 

Since she went home, — 
The robin's note has touched a minor strain, 
The old, glad songs breathe but a sad refrain,. 
And laughter sobs with hidden, bitter pain. 

Since she went home. 

Since she went home, — 
How still the empty rooms her presence blest. 
Untouched the pillow that her dear head pressed, 
My lonely heart hath nowhere for its rest, — 

Since she went home. 

Since she went home, — 
The long, long days have crept away like years, 
The sunlight has been dimmed with doubts and. 

fears. 
And the dark nights have rained in lonely tears, 

Since she went home. 



THE GREEN MOUNTAIN JUSTICE. 
*' The snow is deep," the Justice said; 
''There's mighty mischief overhead." 
'* High talk, indeed," his wife exclaimed; 
'* What, sir! shall Providence be blamed?" 
The Justice, laughing, said, " Oh, no ! 
I only meant the loads of snow 
Upon the roofs. The barn is weak ; 



170 Practice of Speech 



I greatly fear the roof will break. 
So hand me up the spade, my dear, 
I'll mount the barn, the roof to clear." 
*' No !" said the wife ; '' the barn is high, 
And if you slip, and fall, and die. 
How will my living be secured? — 
Stephen, your life is not insured. 
But tie a rope your waist around, 
And it will hold you safe and sound." 
" I will," said he. '' Now for the roof- 
All snugly tied, and danger-proof! 
Excelsior ! Excel — But no ! 
The rope is not secured below !" 
Said Rachel, '' Climb, the end to throw 
Across the top, and I will go 
And tie that end around my waist." 
*'Well, every woman to her taste; 
You always would be tightly laced. 
Rachel, when you became my bride, 
I thought the knot securely tied ; 
But lest the bond should break in twain, 
I'll have it fastened once again." 

Below the arm-pits tied around. 
She takes her station on the ground, 
While on the roof, beyond the ridge, 
He shovels clear the lower edge. 
But, sad mischance ! the loosened snow 
Comes sliding down, to plunge below. 
And as he tumbles with the slide, 
Up Rachel goes on t'other side. 
Just half-way down the Justice hung; 
Just half-way up the w^oman swung. 
" Good land o' Goshen !" shouted she ; 
'* Why, do you see it ?" answered he. 



And Successful Selectwiis. 171 



The couple, dangling in the breeze, 

Like turkeys hung outside to freeze, 

At their rope's end and wit's end, too, 

Shout back and forth what best to do. 

Cried Stephen, "Take it coolly, wife; 

All have their ups and downs in life." 

Quoth Rachel, " What a pity 'tis 

To joke at such a time as this ! 

A man whose wife is being hung 

Should know enough to hold his tongue." 

" Now, Rachel, as I look below\ 

I see a tempting heap of snow. 

Suppose, my dear, I take my knife, 

And cut the rope to save my life." 

She shouted, " Don't ! 'twould be my death — 

I see some pointed stones beneath. 

A better way would be to call 

With all our might, for Phebe Hall." 

''Agreed !" he roared. First he, then she 

Ga\^e tongue : " O, Phebe ! Phebe ! Phe-e- 

be Hall !" in tones both fine and coarse. 

Enough to make a drover hoarse. 

Now, Phebe, over at the farm. 
Was sitting, sewing, snug and warm ; 
But hearing, as she thought, her name, 
Sprang up, and to the rescue came. 
Beheld the scene, and thus she thought, 
"If now a kitchen chair were brought. 
And I could reach the lady's foot, 
P'd draw her downward by the boot, 
Then cut the rope, and let him go ; 
He cannot miss the pile of snow." 
He sees her moving towards his wife, 
Armed with a chair and carving-knife, 



172 Practice of Speech 



And, ere he is aware, perceives 

His head ascending to the eaves ; 

And, guessing what the two are at, 

Screams from beneath the roof, ''^ Stop that ! 

You make me fall too far, by half!" 

But Phebe answers, with a laugh, 

*' Please tell a body by what right 

You've brought your wife to such a plight!'' 

And then, with well-directed blows. 

She cuts the rope, and down he goes. 

The wife untied, they walk around. 
When lo I no Stephen can be found. 
They call in vain, run to and fro; 
They look around, above, below ; 
No trace or token can they see, 
And deeper grows the mystery. 
Then Rachel's heart within her sank ;, 
But, glancing at the snowy bank. 
She caught a little gleam of hope,^ — ' 
A gentle movement of the rope. 
They scrape away a little snow ; 
What's this ? A hat ! Ah ! he's below. 
Then upward heaves the snowy pile, 
And forth he stalks in tragic style, 
Unhurt, and with a roguish smile ; 
And Rachel sees, with glad surprise, 
The missing found, the fallen rise. 



THE DUTCHMAN'S SERENADE. 

Vake up, my schveet ! Vake up, my lofe t 
Der moon dot can't been seen abofe. 
Vake oud your eyes, und dough it's late, 
ril make you oud a serenate. 



And Successful SelectUytis. 173 



Der shtreet dot's kinder dampy vet, 
Und dhere was no goot blace to set ; 
My fiddle's getting oud of dune, 
So blease get vakey wery soon. 

O, my lofe ! My lofely lofe ! 
Vas you a\'ake up dhere above ; 
Feeling sadt und nice to hear 
Schneider's fiddle schrabin near? 

Veil, anyway, obe loose your ear, 
Und try to saw uf you kin hear 
From dem bedclose, vat you'm among, 
Der little song I'm going to sung : — 

O, lady! Vake ! Get vake! 

Und hear der tale I'll tell ; 
Oh ! you vat's schleebin sound ub dhere, 

I like you poot}^ veil ! 

Your plack eyes dhem don't shine 
Ven you'm ashleep — so vake ! 

(Yes, hurry ub und vake ub quick, 
For gootness, cracious sake!) 

.Mine Schveet, imbatience, lofe, 

I hobe you vill oxcuse ; 
I'm singing schveetly (dhere, py Jinks ! 

Dhere goes a shtring prake loose !) 

O, putiful, schveet maid ! 

Oh ! vill she efer vake? 
Der moon is mooning — Qimminy ! dhere 

Anoder shtring vent prake !) 

Oh ! say, old schleeb}^ headt ! 

(Now, I vas gidting madt — 
I'll holler now, I don't care 

Uf I vake up her dad!) 



174 Practice of Speech 



I say, you schleeby, vake ! 

Vake oud ! Vake loose! Vakeub! 
Fire! Murder! Police! Vatch ! 

O, Gracious ! do vake ub ! 

Dot girl she schleebed — dot raine it rained, 
Und I looked shtoopid like a fool, 

Vhen mit mine fiddle I shneaked off 
So vet und shlobbv like a mool ! 



MR. SPOOPENDYKE EXPLAINS THE 
WEATHER BUREAU. 

'' I see/' said Mrs. Spoopendyke, as she laid the 
paper down — '' I see that we are to have rising, fol- 
lowed by falling barometer, with northeast to south- 
west winds, and higher or lower temperature, with 
clear or partly cloudy weather and light rains. How 
is it they contrive to tell so accurately about the 
weather? Do you understand it?" 

'' Certainly," replied Mr. Spoopendyke. '* They 
do it by observation. They have a fellow out West 
observing, and a man down East who observes, and 
fellows observing around in different parts of the 
country. They put all their observations together, 
and we know just what it is going to do." 

'' I suppose that's what makes the wind so differ- 
ent every morning — when one man's temperature is 
rising, another's is falling ; and when one is clear, the 
rest are partly cloudy, with — " 

''No, they ain't. Each observer sends in what 
he observes, and the chief makes up his mind from 
those reports what the weather will be. Can you 
understand?" 



And Successful Selecti/jns. 175 

" Perfectly," said Mrs. Spoopendyke, rubbing her 
elbows. '' If one sees the barometer rising, and 
another sees it falling, and it's cold in one place and 
cloudy in another, they all say so. But I should 
think that when one hits it right, the others would be 
awful mad." 

'' What would they get mad about ?" demanded 
Mr. Spoopendyke. *' You don't imagine they all get 
together and fight it out, do you ? They take the 
w^eather from different points, and combine it, and then 
they parcel it out among the different regions. For 
instance, if it snows in the East and is warm in the 
West, they strike an average for the lake region. 
Now, what's the average between heat and snow ?" 

'' Rain," cried Mrs. Spoopendyke, dehghted in 
her sagacity. '' I see how it is now. They take w^hat 
is usually going on, and equalize it all over the 
countr}\ I'm glad the Democrats weren't elected." 

''What have they got to do with it? Do you 
think a barometer is a politician?" 

*' No ; but if the Democrats had been elected they 
would have had to change it all, wouldn't they ? And 
the South w^ould have got the best share. That's 
what the Repub — " 

*' Dodgast the Republicans ! They've got no 
more to do wnth it than you have. You've got an 
idea that they throw the barometers and observ^ers into 
one end of a steam engine, and the w^eather comes out 
of the other. They don't make weather. The weather 
makes itself It's the only one self-supporting thing 
about the Government. And these signal men only 
watch it, and tell what's going to be." 

" I suppose when these observers all get together 
and talk it over, it is called a storm center, isn't it?" 



176 Practice of Speech 



'' That's it," shouted Mr. Spoopendyke. '' You've 
got the weather now. All you want is your name 
painted on the handle and the spring broken to be an 
umbrella. They don't talk it over; they tell what 
they know, and it is fixed up in Washington. They 
agree on it there, and then telegraph it all over the 
country. A storm center travels around everywhere. 
It is generally made in Manitoba, and sent down here." 

'' How wide is it ?" asked Mrs. Spoopendyke, 
deeply interested. '' Because, if it isn't too big, I 
should think they might stop it." 

''Wide? It's about a feet wide! Just a feet! 
Just about as wide as your measley information. 
How're they going to stop it? S'pose it travels on a 
railroad train ? Think it jaws the sleeping car con- 
ductor because there's only an upper berth left ? Well, 
it don't. It hires a horse ; that's the w^ay it comes. It 
hires a horse!" howled Mr. Spoopendyke; ''and the 
only way to stop it is to build a fence around it. There 
was some talk about burning the last one, but the 
wood was wet." 

" Well, my dear, you needn't get angry about it," 
said Mrs. Spoopendyke, soothingly ; " I only thought 
there might be some way they could make some ar- 
rangements about it. I think storm centers are horrid, 
and the observer in Manitoba must have a hard time. 
If he has to observe much in the winter, he must be 
nearly frozen." 

" Does any human being know what you're think- 
ing about ?" raved Mr. Spoopendyke. " Do you s'pose 
he goes around with a spy-glass looking behind rocks ? 
Think he prowls around all night with a dodgasted 
lantern, hunting up storm centers ? Got an idea that 
he runs around under the bed with a broom, like a 



Alul Successful Selections. 177 



measley married woman I know of, and when he 
catches a center, pulls him out by the leg and observes 
him ? He don't do anything of the sort. He has 'em 
in to spend the evening with him, and he gets 'em 
drunk, and finds what they're up to. Understand it 
now^ ? All you want to do is to whirl around twice 
and squeak nights to be a weather-vane." 

'' I didn't know how^ they did it," quoth Mrs. 
Spoopendyke, complacently ; " but I see it now. If 
the Prohibitionists had been elected he couldn't have 
done that, and we would have been in a bad w^ay. 
Now that I understand it, I'll learn the indications 
ever}" morning. How does a barometer rise and fall ?"' 

''With jack-screws, dodgast it!" thundered Mr. 
Spoopendyke. '' Sometimes they haul it up with a 
stump machine ; then they drop a carpenter's shop on 
it. When it gets very low they blow^ it up with gun- 
cotton. Once in Dakota it got so high they had to 
dig a hole and ram it dow^n with a pile-driver. Got it 
now? Begin to see through it?" 



BURGLAR BILL. 

Throucrh a window in the attic brawnv Burs^lar Bill 
has crept; 

Stealthily he seeks a chamber where the jewelry is 
kept. 

He is furnished with a jimmy, centre-bit and carpet- 
bag— 

For the latter " comes in handy," as he says, '' to stow 
the swag." 

Here, upon the second landing, he secure may work 
his wall ; 

Down below^'s a dinner party — up above, the house is 
still. 



178 Practice of Speech 



Suddenly, in spell-bound horror, all his satisfaction ends. 
For a little white-robed figure by the banister descends. 
Bill has reached for his revolver, but he hesitates to 

fire ; — 
Child is it, or apparition, that provokes him to perspire ? 
Can it be his guardian angel, sent to stay his hand 

from crime ? 
He could wish she had selected some more seasonable 

time. 
''Go away!" he whispers, hoarsely, '' burglars have 

their bread to earn. 
I don't need no gordian angel comin' givin' me a turn." 
But the blue eyes open wader, ruby lips reveal their 

pearl : — 
'' I is not a garden angel — I is dust a yicked girl ; 
On the thairs to thit I'm doin' till the tarts and jellies 

turn; 
Partinthon, the butler, alwayth thaves for Baby Bella 

thome. 
Poor man, 'oo is lookin' 'ungry — leave 'oo burgling 

fings up dere ; 
Tum along an' have some sweeties, thitting on the 

bottom thair." 
'' Reely, Miss, you must excoose me," says the burg- 
lar, with a jerk ; 
'' Dooty calls, and time is pressing — I must set about 

my work." 
'' Is 'oo work to bweak in houses ? Nana told me so, 

I'm sure. 
Will 'oo try if 'oo can manage to bweak in my doll's 

house door ? 
I tan never det it undone, so my dollies tan't det out ; 
They don't like the fwont to open evewy time they'd 

walk about. 



And Successful Selections. 179 

Twy, and if 'oo does it nicely, when I'm thent upthairs 

to theep, 
I will bring 'oo up some goodies, which shall be for 

'oo to keep." 
Off the little angel flutters, but the burglar wipes his 

brow ; 
He is wholly unaccustomed to a kindly greeting now. 
Never with a smile of welcome has he seen his entrance 

met; 
Nobody (except the policeman) ever wanted him as 

yet. 
Many a stately home he's entered, but with unobtru- 
sive tact, 
He has ne'er, in paying visits, called attention to the fact. 
Gain he counts it, on departing, if he has avoided strife. 
Ah, my brothers, but the burglar's is a sad and lonely 

life; 
All forgotten are the jewels, once the purpose of his 

"job," 
As he sinks upon the door-mat with a deep and chok- 
ing sob ! 
Then, the infant's plea recalling, seeks the nursery 

above, 
Looking for the Liliputian crib he is to crack for love. 
In the corner stands the doll's house, gaily painted 

green and red ; 
And the door declines to open — even as the child had 

said. 
Out come centre -bit and jimmy; — all his implements 

are plied. 
Never has he burgled better, as he feels with honest 

pride ; 
Deftly now the task's accomplished, for the door will 

open well, 



180 Practice of Speech 



When a childish voice behind him breaks the silence 

like a bell — 
*' Sank 'oo Missa Burglar, sank 'oo, and, betause 'oo's 

been tho nice, 
See, IVe bwought 'oo up a tartlet — gweat big gweedies 

eat the ice. 
Papa says he wants to see 'oo ; Partinthon is tummin' 

too — 
Tan't 'oo stay — " '' Well, not this evenin', so, my 

little dear, adoo !" 
Fast he speeds across the house-tops, but his bosom 

throbs with bliss, 
For upon his rough lips linger traces of a baby's kiss. 
Dreamily on downy pillow Baby Bella murmurs sweet: 
^' Burglar, turn adain an' thee me ; I will dive 'oo cakes 

to eat." 
In his garret, worn and weary, Burglar Bill has sunk 

to rest. 
Clasping tenderly a damson tartlet to his burly breast. 



THE NATION'S DEAD. 

BYRON. W. KING. 

Sound a mighty, long reveille ! 

Let the fife and throbbing drum 
Tell the world the marshaled heroes 

Of our grand Republic come ! 
Strike the notes of" Hail Columbia!" 

Wake the music that of old 
Timed the tread of marching tl^ousands 

Where the battle surges rolled ! 
Fling to heaven our sacred banner, 

Wave it high o'er field and flood ; 
Torn by many a fiery conflict. 

Stained by many a hero's blood. 



Aiid Successful Selections. 181 

Open wide the mouldy portals 

Where our mighty dead have slept; 
Bid them break the voiceless slumber 

That the solemn years have kept. 
Roll the years that tell their glory 

Backward from the great unknown ; 
Gather them once more around us 

As w^hen war's loud blast was blown. 
Once again the earth shall tremble 

'Neath the tread of million feet, 
While the nation's heart exulting 

Times them with its pulsing beat. 
Mirrored in the deep of heaven 

See the spectral host sweep by; 
Regiment, and flag and banner, 

All of war's proud panoply. 

They are coming! coming! coming! 

How the music w^akes and thrills ! 
All their mystic tents are gleaming 

White upon their Country's hills ! 
They are coming! coming! coming! 

East and West, and South and North ! 
Lo from every wind of heaven, 

They are thronging, hurrying forth ! 
They are coming ! coming ! coming ! 

Fathers, brothers, husbands, sons — 
And the rushing tide of Memory 

Through the years still faster runs. 

From the gory field of conquest, 

From the rivers, crimson-dyed, 
They return, our deathless heroes, 

Sons of Freedom, glorified 1 



183 Practice of Speeoh 



Bringing every tattered banner, 

Bearing eveiy honored name, 
That for God, and Home, and Country 

Won an everlasting fame ! 
High among them stands the figure 

Of the Martyr, calm and brave, 
Who in God's name and the Nation's 

Struck the shackles from the slave. 

Say not they are dead, forgotten, 

Voiceless, speechless, silent dust ; 
No man's dead, whose toil and heart-blood 

Speed a great God-given trust ! 
Dead, the millions upon millions 

Who from fleeting sun to sun, 
Quaffed the brimming cups of pleasure 

Till their reckless years were run. 
Dead, the man who gathered riches. 

All his golden visions fled ; 
Dead and monuments he builded. 

Crumbling dust upon his head; 
Doubly dead and long forgotten. 

Dust on head and dust on heart, 
He who heard the call for battle — 

Heard, but played the craven's part. 

But of all we fondly cherish 

All the mighty martyr host. 
Not the lowliest life or humblest 

Ever was or will be lost ! 
Bow the knee — their graves are holy. 

Consecrated is this sod, 
Hallowed deep through all the ages 

In the sight of men and God ! 



And Successful Selections. 183 



Holy is the deathless freedom 
By their great devotion bought ; 

Graven deep, illumed by glory, 
Never shall they be forgot. 



GLORY. 



DR. WAYLAND. 

The crumbling tombstone and the gorgeous mau- 
soleum, the sculptured marble and the venerable 
cathedral, all bear witness to the instinctive desire 
within us to be remembered by coming generations. 
But how short-lived is the immortality which the 
works of our hands can confer ! The noblest monu- 
ments of art that the world has ever seen are covered 
with the soil of twenty centuries. The works of the 
age of Pericles lie at the foot of the Acropolis in 
indiscriminate ruin. The plow share turns up the 
marble which the hand of Phidias had chiseled into 
beauty, and the Mussulman has folded his flock 
beneath the falling columns of the temple of Minerva. 
Neither sculptured marble, nor stately column, can 
reveal to other ages the lineaments of the spirit; and 
these alone can embalm our memory in the hearts of 
a grateful posterity. 

As the stranger stands beneath the dome of St. 
Paul's, or treads, with religious awe, the silent aisles 
of Westminster Abbey, the sentiment, which is 
breathed from every object around him, is, the utter 
emptiness of sublunary glory. The fine arts, obedient 
to private affection or public gratitude, have here em- 
bodied, in every form, the finest conceptions of which 
their age was capable. Each one of these monuments 
has been watered by the tears of the widow, the 
orphan, or the patriot. 



184 Practice of Speech 



But generations have passed away, and mourners 
and mourned have sunk together into forgetfulness. 
The aged crone, or the smooth-tongued beadle, as 
now he hurries you through aisles and chapel, utters, 
with measured cadence and unmeaning tone^ for the 
thousandth time, the name and Hneage of the once 
honored dead ; and then gladly dismisses you, to 
repeat again his well-conned lesson to another group 
of idle passers-by. 

Such, in its most august form, is all the immor- 
tality that matter can confer. It is by what we our- 
selves have done, and not by what others have done 
for us, that we shall be remembered by after ages. It 
is by thought that has aroused my intellect from its 
slumbers, which has '' given luster to virtue, and 
dignity to truth," or by those examples which have 
inflamed my soul with the love of goodness, and not 
by means of sculptured marble, that I hold communion 
with Shakspeare and Milton, with Johnson and Burke, 
with Howard and Wilberforce. 



THE WOUNDED SOLDIER. 

Steady, boys, steady! 

Keep your arms ready, 
God only knows whom we may meet here. 

Don't let me be taken — 

rd rather awaken 
To-morrow in — no matter where, 
Than lie in that foul prison-hole — over there. 

Step slowly! 

Speak lowly! 
The rocks may have life; 
Lay me down in the hollow ; 
We are out of the strife. 



And Successful Selections. 185 



By heaven! the foeman may track me in blood, 
For this hole in my breast is outpouring a flood, 
No ! no surgeon for me ; he can give me no aid ; 
The surgeon I want is a pickaxe and spade. 
What, Morris, a tear? Why, shame on you, man I 
I thought you a hero ; but since you began 
To whimper and cry, like a girl in her teens, 
By George ! I don't know what the devil it means. 

Well! well! I am rough, 'tis a very rough school, 
This life of a trooper — but yet I'm no fool! 
I know a brave man, and a friend from a foe ; 
And, boys, that you love me I certainly know. 

But wasn't it grand. 
When they came down the hill over sloughing and 

sand ? 
But we stood — did we not? — like immovable rock, 
Unheeding their balls and repelling their shock. 

Did you mind the loud cry. 

When, as turning to fly. 
Our men sprang upon them determined to die — 

Oh, ivasiit it grand? 
God help the wretches who fell in the fight ; 
No time was there given for prayers or for flight. 
They fell by the score, in the crash, hand to hand, 
And they mingled their blood with the sloughing 
and sand. 

Huzza ! 
Great heaven ! this bullet-hole gapes like a grave ; 
A curse on the aim of the traitorous knave ! 
Is there never a one of you knows how to pray. 
Or speak for a man as his life ebbs away ? 
Pray ! Pray ! 



186 Prafttice of Speech. 



Our Father! our Father! why don't you proceed? 
Can't you see I am dying? Great God, how I bleed ! 

Ebbing away ! 
Ebbing away ! The hght of the day is turning to 
gray. 

Pray ! Pray ! 

Our Father in Heaven — boys, tell me the rest, 
While I stanch the hot blood from this hole in my 

breast. 
There's something about the forgiveness of sin; 
Put that in ! put that in ! — and then 
I'll follow your words and say an amen. 
Here, Morris, old fellow, get hold of my hand. 
And, Wilson, my comrade — oh ! wasn't it grand 
When they came down the hill like a thunder- 
charged cloud. 
And were scattered like mist by our brave little 

crowd ? 
Where's Wilson — my comrade — -here, stoop down 

your head, 
Can't you say a short prayer for the dying and dead? 

'* Christ-God, who died for sinners all. 

Hear thou this suppliant wanderer's cry ; 
Let not e'en this poor sparrow fall 

Unheeded by thy gracious eye ; 
Throw wide thy gates to let him in, 

And take him pleading to thine arms ; 
Forgive, O Lord, his life-long sin, 

And quiet all his fierce alarms." 

God bless you, my comrade, for singing that hymn, 
Tt is light to my path now my sight has grown dim — 



And Successful Selections. 187 



I am dying — bend down — till I touch you once 



more ; 



Don't forget me, old fellow — God prosper this war ! 
Confusion to enemies ! — keep hold of my hand — 
And float our. dear flag o'er a prosperous land I 



A SIMILAR CASE. 

Jack, I hear you've gone and done it. 

Yes, I know ; most fellows will ; 
Went and tried it once myself, sir, 
Though, you see, I'm single still. 
And you met her — did you tell me ? 

Down at Newport, last July, 
And resolved to ask the question 
At a soiree? So did I. 

I suppose you left the ball-room 
With its music and its light; 
For thev say love's flame is bricrhtest 
In the darkness of the night. 

Well, you w^alked along together-^ 

Overhead the starlit sky, 
And I'll bet — old man, confess it — 
You were frightened. So was I. 

So you strolled along the terrace, 

Saw the summer moonlight pour 
All its radiance on the waters 
As they rippled on the shore ; 

Till at length you gathered courage, 

When you saw that none were nigh- 
Did you draw her close and tell her 
That vou loved her ? So did I. 



188 Practice of Speech 



Well, I needn't ask you further, 
And I'm sure I wish you joy; 
Think I'll wander down and see you 
When you're married — eh, my boy ? 
When the honeymoon is over. 

And you're settled down, we'll try — 
What? The deuce you say! Rejected, — so was L 



LONG AS THE TIDE SHALL FLOW. 

BYRON W. KING. 

Long as the tide shall flow. 

Upon the barren strand, 
Shall men walk to and fro, 
And stretch forth eager hand, 
And murmur names on trembling lips. 
And watch and wait for coming ships, — 
Long as the tide shall flow. 

Long as the tide shall flow. 

With painful, solemn tread. 
Dark-shrouded, bowing low. 

Shall mourners bring their dead. 
With chant and prayer and mournful hymn, 
And hearts shall bleed, and eyes grow dim,— 
Long as the tide shall flow. 

Long as the tide shall flow 

Shall heart to heart be knit ; 
And over scoff and blow. 
Love, strong, pure, infinite, 
Shall triumph in that mighty faith 
That falters not at life or death, — 
Long as the tide shall flow. 



And Successful Selections. 189 

Long as the tide shall flow 

Shall cheeks be wet with tears ; 
The soul be sick with woe, 

And through the dark, sad years, 
Shall count life's wild throbs one by one, 
While weary feet move blindly on, — 
Long as the tide shall flow. 

Long as the tide shall flow 

Shall hope within the breast 
Rise, rise from all below. 

And whisper '* home " and " rest!" 
And over cross, and tears, and night 
Show gleamings of a coming light, — 
Long as the tide shall flow. 



THE DIFFERENCE. 

By the pleasant fire they sat one night, 

Husband and wife alone ; 
And they talked of changes they had seen. 

And of how the years had flown ; 
Of the sons, now scattered far and near. 

And the daughters, wooed and wed. 
'" We've only two in the house once more, 

O, Mary, my wife !" he said. 

'' When we were alone, forty years ago. 

So young and happy and poor. 
There wasn't a prettier girl than you, 

Nor a better one, Fm sure. 
I promised you then Fd make you rich 

If you'd only share m}^ life. 
I'm w^orth a million and more to-day, 

A mine of wealth, dear wife." 



190 Practice of Speech 

'' How much am I worth?" she smiHngly asked. 

He looked on her tender face ; 
He looked in her eyes, then closed his own, 

And thought for a little space. 
'' You are worth the life I've spent with you,, 

You are worth its richest joys ; 
You are worth more gold than can be told — 

You are worth my girls and boys. 

'' You are worth the years that are yet to come^ 

You are worth the world to me. 
O, Mary, there is not gold enough 

To say what you are worth to me !" 
" Well, dear, I was worth the world to you 

More than forty years ago ; 
A million is but a paltry sum 

To the whole wide world, you know ! 

So then, we have never been poor at all ! 

Now, isn't it nice to know 
That you were a million billionaire 

More than forty years ago ? 
We were happy then, we are happy now, 

So tell me the difference, Frank." 
"It isn't much," he said with a smile — 
I gathered a million from the pile, 

And locked it up in the bank." 



THE SHIP OF FAITH. 

A certain colored brother had been holding forth 
to his little flock upon the ever fruitful topic of Faith, 
and he closed his exhortation about as follows : 

My bruddren, ef yous gwine to git saved, you got 
to git on board de Ship ob Faith. I tell you, my 



And Successful Selections. 191 



bruddren, dere ain't no odder way. Dere ain't no 
gittin' up de back stairs, nor goin' 'cross lots ; you 
can't do dat a-way, my bruddren; you got to git on 
board de Ship ob Faith. Once 'pon a time dere was 
a lot ob colored people, an' dey was all gwine to de 
promised land. Well, dey knowed dere wan't no 
odder way for 'em to do but to git on board de Ship 
ob Faith. So dey all went down an' got on board — 
de ole granfadders, an' de ole granmudders, an' de 
pickaninnies, an' all de res' ob 'em. Dey all got on 
board 'ceptin' one mons'us big feller ; he said he's 
gwine to swam, kc was. '' W'y !" dey said, " you can't 
swim so fur like dat. It am a powerful long way to 
de promised land !" He said, '' I kin swim anywhar, 
I kin. I git 'board no boat, no, 'deed!" Well, my 
bruddren, all dey could say to dat pore disluded man 
dey couldn't git him on board de Ship ob Faith, so dey 
started off De day was fair, de win' right, de sun 
shinin', an' everyt'ng b'utiful ; an' dis big feller he 
plunge in de water. Well, he war a powerful swim- 
mer, dat man, 'deed he war ; he war dat powerful he 
kep' right 'long side de boat all de time ; he kep' a 
hoUerin' out to de people on de boat, sayin' : " What 
you doin' dere, you folks, brilin' away in de sun ? you 
better come down here in de water ; nice an' cool down 
here." But dey said : " Man alive, you better come 
up here in dis boat w^hile you got a chance." But he 
said : '' No, indeedy ! I git 'board no boat; Fm havin' 
plenty fun in de water." Well, bimeby, my bruddren, 
what you tink dat pore man seen ? A Jwrrible, aiufitl 
shark, my bruddren ; mouf wide open ; teef more'n a 
foot long, ready to chaw dat pore man all up de 
minute he catch him. Well, when he seen dat shark, 
he begin to git awful scared, an' he holler out to de 



192 Practice of Speech 

folks on board de ship : '' Take me on board, take me 
on board, quick!" But dey said: "No, indeed; you 
wouldn't come up here when you had an invite; you 
got to swim, now." 

He look over his shoulder an' he seen dat shark 
a-comin', an' he let hisself out. Fust it was de man, 
an' den it was de shark, an' den it was de man agin, 
dat a-way, my bruddren, ////;;/ to dc promised land. 
Dat am de blessed troof I'n^ a-tellin' you dis minute. 
But what do you t'ink was a-waitin' for him on de 
odder shore when he got dere ? A Jwrriblc, awftdlion, 
my bruddren, was a-stan'in' dere on de shore, a-lashin' 
his sides wid his tail, an' a-roarin' away fit to devour 
dat pore nigger de minit he git on de shore. Well, 
he zvar powerful scared den ; he didn't know what he 
gwine to do. If he stay in de water de shark eat him 
up ; if he go on de shore de lion eat him up ; he dunno 
what to do. But he put his trust in de Lord, an' went 
for de shore. Dat lion he give a fearful roar an' bound 
for him ; but, my bruddren, as sure as you live an' 
breeve, dat horrible, awful lion he jump clean ober dat 
pore feller's head into de water; an' <^^ shark eat de 
lion. But, my bruddren, don't you put your trust in 
no sich circumstance ; dat pore man he done git 
saved, but I tell you de Lord aint a-gwine to fnrfiish 
a lion for ebery nigger I 



THE CURSE OF REGULUS. 

The palaces and domes of Carthage were burn- 
ing with the splendors of noon, and the blue waves of 
her harbor were rolling and gleaming in the gorgeous 
sunlight. An attentive ear could catch a low mur- 
mur, sounding from the center of the city, which 
seemed like the moaning of the wind before a tempest. 



And Successful Selections. 193 



And well it might. The whole people of Carthage, 
startled, astounded by the report that Regulus had 
returned, were pouring, a mighty tide, into the great 
square before the Senate House. There were mothers 
in that throng, whose captive sons were groaning in 
Roman fetters; maidens, whose lovers were dying in 
the distant dungeons of Rome ; gray-haired men and 
matrons, whom Roman steel had made childless ; 
men, who were seeing their country's Hfe crushed 
out by Roman power ; and with wild voices, cursing 
and groaning, the vast throng gave vent to the rage, 
the hate, the anguish of long years. 

Calm and unmoved as the marble walls around 
him, stood Regulus, the Roman! He stretched his 
arm over the surging crowd with a gesture as proudly 
imperious, as though he stood at the head of his ow^i 
gleaming cohorts. Before that silent command the 
tumult ceased — the half-uttered execration died upon 
the lip — so intense was the silence that the clank of 
the captive's brazen manacles smote sharp on every 
ear, as he thus addressed them : 

'' Ye doubtless thought, judging of Roman virtue 
by your own, that I would break my plighted faith, 
rather than by returning, and leaving your sons and 
brothers to rot in Roman dungeons, to meet your 
vengeance. Well, I could give reasons for this return, 
foolish and inexplicable as it seems to you ; I could 
speak of yearnings after immortality — of those eter- 
nal principles in whose pure light a patriot's death is 
glorious, a thing to be desired ; but, by great Jove ! I 
should debase myself to dwell on such high themes to 
you. If the bright blood w^hich feeds 7nj heart were 
like the slimy ooze that stagnates in jour veins, I 
should have remained at Rome, saved my life and 



194 Practice of Speech 

broken my oath. If, then, you ask, why I have come 
back, to let you work your will on this poor body 
which I esteem but as the rags that cover it, — enough 
reply for you, it is because I am a Roman ! As such, 
here in your very capital I defy you ! What I have 
done, ye never can undo ; what jr may do, I care not. 
Since first my young arm knew how to wield a 
Roman sword, have I not routed your armies, burned 
your towns, and dragged your generals at my chariot 
wheels? And do ye now expect to see me cower and 
whine with dread at Carthaginian vengeance ? Com- 
pared to that fierce mental strife which my heart has 
just passed through at Rome, the piercing of this 
flesh, the rending of these sinews, would be but sport 
to me. 

'' Venerable senators, with trembling voices and 
outstretched hands, besought me to return no more to 
Carthage. The generous people, with loud wailings, 
and wildly tossing gestures, bade me stay. The 
voice of a beloved mother — her withered hands beat- 
ing her breast, her gray hairs streaming in the wind, 
tears flowing down her furrowed cheeks — praying me 
not to leave her in her lonely helpless old age, is still 
sounding in my ears. Compared to anguish like this, 
the paltry torments j/<9// have in store is as the murmur 
of the meadow brook to the wild tumult of the moun- 
tain storm. Go! bring your threatened tortures! 
The woes I see impending over this fated city will be 
enough to sweeten death, though every nerve should 
tingle with its agony. I die — but mine shall be the 
triumph ; yours the untold desolation. For every 
drop of blood that falls from my veins, your own 
shall pour in torrents ! Woe, unto thee, O Carthage ! 
I see thy homes and temples all in flames, thy citizens 



And Successful Selections. 195 

in terror, thy women wailing for the dead. Proud 
city! thou art doomed! the curse of Jove, a living, 
lasting curse is on thee ! The hungry waves shall 
lick the golden gates of thy rich palaces, and every 
brook run crimson to the sea. Rome, with bloody 
hand, shall sweep thy heart-strings, and all thy homes 
shall howl in wild response of anguish to her touch. 
Proud mistress of the sea, disrobed, uncrowned and 
scourged — thus again do I devote thee to the infernal 
gods ! 

Now bring forth your tortures! Slaves! while 
ye tear this quivering flesh, remember how often Reg- 
ulus has beaten your armies and humbled your pride. 
Cut as he w^ould have carved you ! Burn deep as his 
curse ! 



JIMMY BROWN'S SISTER'S WEDDING. 

Sue ought to have been married a long while 
ago. That's w^hat everybody says who knows her. 
She has been ena;aored to Mr. Travers for three vears, 
and has had to refuse lots of offers to go to the circus 
with other young men. I have wanted her to get 
married, so that I could go and live with her and Mr. 
Travers. When I think that if it hadn't been for a 
mistake I made she would have been married yester- 
day, I find it dreadfully hard to be resigned. But 
we ought always to be resigned to everything when 
we can't help it. 

Before I go any further I must tell about my 
printing-press. It belonged to Tom McGinnis, but he 
got tired of it and sold it to me real cheap. He was 
going to exchange it for a bicycle, a St. Bernard dog, 
and twelve good books, but he finally let me have it 
for a dollar and a-half 



196 Practice of Speech 



It prints beautifully, and I have printed cards 
for ever so many people, and made three dollars 
and seventy-five cents already. I thought it would be 
nice to be able to print circus bills in case Tom and I 
should ever have another circus, so I sent to the city 
and bought some type more than an inch high, and 
some beautiful yellow paper. 

Last week it was finally agreed that Sue and 
Mr. Travers should be married without w^aiting any 
longer. You should have seen what a state of mind 
she and mother were in. They did nothing but buy 
new clothes and sew, and talk about the wedding all 
day long. Sue w^as determined to be married in 
church, and to have six bridemaids and six bride- 
grooms, and flowers and music and all sorts of things. 
The only thing that troubled her was making up 
her mind who to invite. Mother wanted her to invite 
Mr. and Mrs. McFadden and the seven McFadden 
girls, but Sue said they had insulted her, and she 
couldn't bear the idea of asking the McFadden tribe. 
Everybody agreed that old Mr. Wilkinson, who once 
came to a party at our house with one boot and 
one slipper, couldn't be invited ; but it was decided 
that everyone else that was on good terms with our 
family should have an invitation. 

Sue counted up all the people she meant to invite 
and there was nearly three hundred of them. You 
would hardly believe it, but she told me that I must 
carry around all the invitations and deliver them my- 
self Of course I couldn't do this without neglecting 
my studies and losing time, which is always precious, 
so I thought of a plan which would save Sue the 
trouble of directing three hundred invitations and 
save me from wasting time in delivering them. 



And Successful Selections. 197 



I got to work with my printing-press, and printed 
a dozen splendid big bills about the wedding. When 
they were printed I cut a lot of small pictures of ani- 
mals and ladies riding on horses out of some old cir- 
cus bills and pasted them on the weddmg bills. They 
were perfectly gorgeous, and you could see them four 
or five rods off When they were all done I made 
some paste in a tin pail, and w^ent out after dark and 
pasted them in oood places all over the village. 

The next afternoon father came into the house 
looking very stern, and carrying one of the wedding 
bills in his hand. He handed it to Sue and said : 
" Susan, what does this mean ? These bills are posted 
all over the village, and there are crowds of people 
reading them." Sue lead the bill, and then she gave 
an awful shriek, and fainted away, and I hurried down 
to the post-office to see if the mail had come in. This 
is what was on the wedding bills, and I am sure it was 
spelled all right : 

Miss Susan Brown announces that she will marry 
Mr. James Travers, 
at the Church next Thursday at half-past seven, sharp. 
All the Friends of the Family 
With the exception of 
the McFadden tribe and old Mr. Wilkinson 
are invited. 
Come early and bring 
Lots of Flowers. 

Now what was there to find fault with in that ? It was 
printed beautifully, and every word was spelled right, 
w^ith the exception of the name of the church, and I 
didn't put that in because I wasn't quite sure how to 
spell it. The bill saved Sue all the trouble of sending 
out invitations, and it said everything that anybody 
could want to know about the weddincr. Anv other 



198 Practice of Speech 



girl but Sue would have been pleased, and would 
have thanked me for all my trouble, but she was as 
angry as if I had done something real bad. Mr. 
Travers was almost as angry as Sue, and it was the 
first time he was ever angry with me. I am afraid now 
that he won't let me ever come and live with him. He 
hasn't said a word about my coming since the wed- 
ding bills were put up. As for the wedding, it has 
been put off, and Sue says she will go to New York 
to be married, for she would die if she were to have 
a wedding at home after that boy's dreadful conduct. 
What is worse, I am to be sent away to boarding- 
school, and all because I made a mistake in printing the 
wedding bills without first asking Sue how she would 
like to have them printed. 



LIFE. 

WALLACE. 



'' Man," says Sir Thomas Browne, " is a noble 
animal! splendid in ashes, glorious in the grave; 
solemnizing nativities and funerals with equal luster, 
and not forgetting ceremonies of bravery in the 
infamy of his nature!" Thus spake one who mocked 
while he wept at man's estate, and gracefully tempered 
the high scoffings of philosophy with the profound 
compassion of religion. 

Certain it is that pomp chiefly waits upon the 
beginning and the end of life: what lies between, may 
either raise a sigh or wake a laugh, for it mostly par- 
takes of the littleness of one and the sadness of the 
other. The monuments of man's blessedness and of 
man's wretchedness lie side by side : we can not look 
for the one without discovering the other. The echo of 
joy is the moan of despair, and the cry of anguish is 



And Successful Selections. 199 



Stifled in rejoicing. To make a monarch, there must 
be slaves; and that one may triumph, many must be 
weak. 

The dignity and the destiny of man seem utterly 
at variance. He turns from contemplating a monu- 
ment of genius to inquire for the genius which pro- 
duced it, and finds that while the work has survived, 
the workman has perished for ages. The meanest 
work of man outlives the noblest work of God. The 
sculptures of Phidias endure, where the dust of the 
artist has vanished from the earth. Man can immor- 
talize all things but himself. 

But, for my own part, I can not help thinking 
that our high estimation of ourselves is the grand 
error in our account. Surely, it is argued, a creature 
so ingeniously fashioned and so bountifully furnished, 
has not been created but for lofty ends. But cast 
your eye on the humblest rose of the garden, and it 
may teach a wiser lesson. There you behold con- 
trivance and ornament — in every leaf, the finest veins, 
the most delicate odor, and a perfume exquisite 
beyond imitation ; yet all this is but a toy — a play- 
thing of nature ; and surely she w^hose resources are 
so boundless that upon the gaud of a summer day she 
can throw away such lavish wealth, steps not beyond 
her commonest toil when she forms of the dust a 
living man. When will man learn the lesson of his 
own insignificance ? 

Immortal man I thy blood flows freely and fully, 
and thou standest a Napoleon ; thou reclinest a Shaks- 
peare ! — it quickens its movement, and thou liest a 
parched and fretful thing, with thy mind furied by the 
phantoms of fever ! — it retards its action but a little, 



200 Practice of Speech 

and thou crawlest a crouching, soulless mass, the 
bright world a blank, dead vision to thine eye. Verily, 
O man, thou art a glorious and godlike being ! 

Tell life's proudest tale : what is it ? A few 
attempts successless ; a few crushed or moldered 
hopes ; much paltry fretting ; a little sleep, and the 
story is concluded ; the curtain falls — the farce is over. 
The w^orld is not a place to live in, but to die in. It is 
a house that has but two chambers ; a lazar and a 
charnel — room only for the dying and the dead. 
There is not a spot on the broad earth on w^hich man 
can plant his foot and affirm with confidence, '' No 
mortal sleeps beneath!" 

Seeing then that these things are, what shall we 
say ? Shall we exclaim with the gay-hearted Grecian, 
'' Drink to-day, for to-morrow we are not?" Shall we 
calmly float down the current, smiling if we can, 
silent when we must, lulling cares to sleep by the 
music of gentle enjoyment, and passing dream-like 
through a land of dreams ? No ! dream-like as is our 
life, there is in it one reality — our duty. Let us cling 
to that, and distress may overwhelm, but can not dis- 
turb us — may destroy, but can not hurt us: the 
bitterness of earthly things and the shortness of earthly 
life w^ill cease to be evils, and begin to be blessings. 



HOW ''RUBY" PLAYED. 

Jud Brownin, when visiting- New York, goes to hear Rubinstein^ 
and gives the following description of his playing : 

Well, sir, he had the blamedest, biggest, catty- 
cornedest planner you ever laid eyes on ; somethin' 
like a distracted billiard table on three legs. The lid 
was hoisted, and mighty well it was. If it hadn't 
been, he'd a tore the entire inside clean out, and 
scattered 'em to the four w^inds of heaven. 



And Successful Selections. 201 

Played u^c// / You bet he did ; but don't interrupt 
me. When he first sit down, he 'peared to keer 
mighty Httle 'bout playin', and wisht he liadn't come. 
He tweedle-leed'ed a Httle on the treble, and twoodle- 
oodled some on the base — ^just foolin' and boxin' the 
things jaws for bein' in his way. And I says to a man 
settin' next to me, says I : " What sort of fool playin' 
is that?" And he says, " Heish !" But presently his 
hands commenced chasin' one another up and down 
the keys, like a passel of rats scamperin' through a 
garret very swift. Parts of it was sweet, though, and 
reminded me of a sugar squirrel turnin' the wheel of a 
candv cacre. 

" Now," I says to my neighbor, " he's showin' off. 
He thinks he's a-doin' of it, but he ain't got no idee, 
no plan of nothin.' If he'd play me a tune of some 
kmd or other I'd — " 

But my neighbor says '' Heish!" very impatient. 

I was just about to git up and go home, bein' 
tired of that foolishness, when I heard a little bird 
waking up away off in the woods, and call sleepy-like 
to his mate, and I looked up and see that Rubin was 
beginning to take some interest in his business, and I 
sit down again. It was the peep of day. The light 
came faint from the east, the breezes blowed gentle 
and fresh, some more birds waked up in the orchard, 
then some more in the trees near the house, and all 
begun singin' together. People began to stir, and the 
gal opened the shutters. Just then the first beam of 
the sun fell upon the blossoms a leetle more, and it 
techt the roses on the bushes, and the next thing it 
was broad day , the sun fairly blazed, the birds sung 
like theyM split their little throats ; all the leaves was 
movin', and flashin' diamonds of dew, and the whole 



202 Practice of Speech 



wide world was bright and happy as a king. Seemed 
to me Hke there was a good breakfast in every house 
in the land, and not a sick child or woman anywhere. 
It was a fine mornin'. 

And I says to my neighbor : '' That's music, that 
is." 

But he glared at me like he'd like to cut my 
throat. 

Presently the wind turned; it begun to thicken 
up, and a kind of gray mist came over things ; I got 
low-spirited directly. Then a silver rain begun to fall. 
I could see the drops touch the ground; some flashed 
up like long pearl ear-rings, and the rest rolled away 
like round rubies. It was pretty but melancholy. 
Then the pearls gathered themselves into long strands 
and necklaces, and then they melted into thin silver 
streamxS, running between golden gravels, and then 
the streams joined each other at the bottom of the 
hill, and made a brook that flowed silent, except that 
you could kinder see the music, 'specially when the 
bushes on the banks moved as the music went along 
down the valley. I could smell the flowers in the 
meadow. 

The most curious thing w^as the little white angel- 
boy, like you see in pictures, that run ahead of the 
music brook and led it on and on, aw^ay out of the 
world, where no man ever w^as, certain. I could see 
that boy just as plain as I see you. Then the moon- 
light came, without any sunset, and shone on the 
graveyards, where some few ghosts lifted their hands 
and went over the wall, and between the black, sharp- 
top trees splendid marble houses rose up, with fine 
ladies in the lit-up windows, and men that loved 'em, 



And Successful Selections. 203 

but could never get a-nigh 'em, who played on guitars 
under the trees, and made me that miserable I could 
have cried, because I wanted to love somebody, I don't 
know who, better than the men with the guitars did. 

Then the sun went down, it got dark, the wind 
moaned and wept like a lost child for its dead mother, 
and I could a got up then and there and preached a 
better sermon than an}' I ever listened to. There 
wasn't a thing in the world left to live for, not a blame 
thing, and yet I didn't want the music to stop one bit. 
It was happier to be miserable than to be happy with- 
out being miserable. I couldn't understand it. I 
hung my head and pulled out my handkerchief, and 
blowed my nose loud to keep me from cryin'. My 
eyes is weak anyway; I didn't want anybody to be 
a-gazin' at me a-snivlin', and it's nobody's business 
w^hat I do with my nose. It's mine. But some sev- 
eral glared at me mad as blazes. Then, all of a 
sudden, old Rubin changed his tune. He ripped out 
and he rared, he tipped and he tared, he pranced and 
he charged like the grand entry at a circus. 'Feared 
to me that all the gas in the house was turned on at 
once, things got so bright, and I hilt up my head, 
ready to look any man in the face, and not afraid of 
nothin'. It was a circus, and a brass band, and a big 
ball all goin' on at the same time. He lit into them keys 
like a thousand of brick ; he o;ive 'em no rest dav or 
night; he set every livin' joint in me a-goin' and 
not bein' able to stand it no longer, I jumped spang 
onto my seat, and jest hollered : 

" Go it, my Rube r 

Every blamed man, woman, and child in the 
house riz on me, and shouted, ^' Put him out ! " '' Put 
him out !" 



204 Practice of Speech 



" Put your great grandmother's grizzly gray 
greenish cat into the middle of next month!" I says. 
"Tech me if you dare? I paid my money and you just 
come a-nigh me." 

With that some several policeman run up, and I 
had to simmer down. But I would a fit any fool that 
laid hands on me, for I was bound to hear Ruby out 
or die. 

He had changed his tune again. He hop-light 
ladies and tip-toed fine from end to end of the key- 
board. He played soft, and low and solemn. I heard 
the church bells over the hills. The candles of 
heaven was lit, one by one ; I saw^ the stars rise. The 
great organ of eternity began to play from the world's 
end to the world's end and all the angels went to 
prayers. Then the music changed to water, full of 
feeling that couldn't be thought, and began to drop — 
drip, drop — drip, drop, clear and sweet, like tears of joy 
falling into a lake of glory. It was sweeter than that. It 
was as sweet as a sweet-heart sweetened with white 
sugar mixt with powdered silver and seed diamonds. 
It was too sweet. I tell you the audience cheered. 
Rubin, he kinder bowed, like he wanted to say, 



'' Much obleeged, but I'd rather you wouldn't inter- 
rup' me." 

He stopt a minute or two to ketch breath. Then 
he got mad. He run his fingers through his hair, he 
shoved up his sleeve, he opened his coat tails a leetle 
further, he drug up his stool, he leaned over, and, sir, 
he just went for that old pianner. He slapt her facer 
he boxed her jaws, he pulled her nose, he pinched her 
ears, and he scratched her cheeks until she fairly 
yelled. He run a quarter stretch down the low 
grounds of the base, till he got clean in the bowels of 



And Successful Selections. 205 

the earth, and you heard thunder galloping after thun- 
der, through the hollows and caves of perdition ; and 
then he fox-chased his right hand with his left till he 
got away out of the treble into the clouds, whar the 
the notes was finer than the pints of cambric needles, 
and you couldn't hear nothin' but the shadders of 'em. 
And t/if/i he wouldn't let the old pianner go. He 
far'ard two'd, he crossed over first gentleman, he 
chassade right and left, back to your places, he all 
hands'd aroun', ladies to the right, promenade all, in 
and out, here and there, back and forth, up and down, 
perpetual motion, double twisted and turned and 
tacked and tangled into forty-eleven thousand double 
bow knots. 

By jinks ! it was a mixtery. Andthen he wouldn't 
let the old pianner go. He fecht up his right wing, he 
fecht up his left wing, he fecht up his centre, he fecht 
up his reserves. He fired by file, he fired by platoons, 
by company, by regiments, and by brigades. He 
opened his cannon — siege guns down thar. Napoleons 
here, twelve pounders yonder — big guns, little guns, 
middle-sized guns, round shot, shells, shrapnels, grape, 
canister, mortar, mines and magazines, every livin' 
battery and bomb a-goin' at the time. The house 
trembled, the lights danced, the walls shuk, the floor 
come up, the ceilin' come down, the sky split, the 
ground rokt, — heavens and earth, creation, sweet- 
potatoes, Moses, ninepences, glory, ten-penny nails, 
Sampson in a 'simmon tree. Tump, Tompson in a 
tumbler-cart, roodle-oodle-oodle — ruddle-uddle-uddle- 
uddle — raddle-addle-addle-addle — riddle-iddie-iddle- 
iddJe — reedle-eedle-eedle-eedle — p-r-r-r-rlank ! Bang ! 
! ! lang ! per-lang ! p-r-r-r-r-r! ! Bang ! ! ! 

With that bane ! he lifted himself bodilv into the 



206 Practice of Speech 



a'r and he came down with his knees, his ten fingers^ 
his ten toes, his elbows, and his nose, striking- everv 
single solitary key on the planner at the same time. 
The thing busted and went off into seventeen hundred 
and fifty-seven thousand five hundred and fort\^-tw^o 
heme-demi-semi quivers, and I know'd no more'. 

When I come to, I were under ground about 
twenty foot, in a place they call Oyster B^y, treatin' 
a Yankee that I never laid eyes on before, and never 
expect to agin. Day was breakin' by the time I got 
to the St. Nicholas Hotel, and I pledge you my word, 
I did not know my name. The man asked me the 
number of my room, and I told him, *' Hot music on 
the half-shell for two." 



THE BOBOLINK. 

THE ALDINE. 

Once, on a golden afternoon. 

With radiant faces and hearts in tune, 
Tw^o fond lovers in dreaming mood, 
Threaded a rural solitude. 

Wholly happy, they only knew^ 

That the earth was bright and the sky was blue. 
That light and beauty and joy and song 
Charmed the way as they passed along ; 

The air was fragrant with woodland scents ; 

The squirrel frisked on the roadside fence ; 

And hovering near them, '' Chee, chee, chink ?" 
Queried the curious bobolink ; 

Pausing and peering w^ith sidelong head, 

As saucily questioning all they said ; 

While the ox-eye danced on its slender stem^ 
And all glad nature rejoiced with them. 



And SuccessfuJ Selections. -lo; 

Over the odorous fields were strewn 
Wilting winrow\s of grass new mown, 

And rosy billows oi clover bloom 

Surged in the sunshine and breathed perfume. 
Swinging low on a slender limb, 
The sparrow warbled his wedding hymn. 

And balancing: on a blackberry briar. 

The bobolink sung with his heart on fire — 
'^ Bobo-link I Bobo-lmk I Splink 1 Splank 1 Splink ! 
Chink 1 If you wash to kiss her, do ! 
Do it ! do it ! You coward, you ! 

Kiss her ! kiss her I Who will see ? 

Only we three ! we three ! we three ! 

Ch-wee ! ch-wee I ch-wee I" 

Past tender garlands of drooping vines, 
Through dim vistas of sweet-breathed pines, 

Past wide meadow^ fields, lately mowed, 

Wandered the indolent country road. 
The lovers followed it, listening still, 
And loitering slowly, as lovers will, 

And entered a gray-roofed bridge that lay 

Dusk and cool in their pleasant way. 
Under its arch a smooth, brown stream. 
Silently glided with glint and gleam, 

Shaded by graceful elms, which spread 

Their verdurous canopy overhead — 
Fluttering lightly from brink to brink. 
Followed the garrulous bobolink, 

Rallying loudly with mirthful din. 

The pair who lingered unseen within. 
''Bob-ol-link ! Bob-ol-link ! Splink, Splank, Splink ! 

Kiss her ! kiss her ! chee ! chee I chee ! 

Fm not looking ! I won't see ! 

Do it! do it! ch-w^ee, ch-wee, ch-wee!" 



2 OS Practice of Speech 



The stream so narrow, the boughs so wide, 
They met and mingled across the tide. 

Alders lo\'ed it, and seemed to keep 

Patient watch as it lay asleep, 
Mirroring clearly the trees and sky, 
And the flitting form of the dragon fly, 

Save where the swift-winged swallow played 

In and out in the sun and shade. 
And darting and circling in merry chase, 
Dipped and dimpled its clear, dark face. 

And when from the friendly bridge at last 

Into the road beyond they passed, 
Again beside them the tempter went, 
Keeping the thread of his argument — 

" Kiss her ! kiss her ! chink-a-chee-chee ! 

I'll not mention it ! Don't mind me ! 
ril be sentinel — I can see 
All around from this tall birch-tree !" 

But ah ! they noted — nor deemed it strange — 
In his rollicking chorus a trifling change — 
'' Do it ! do it!" — with might and main 
Warbled the tell-tale — " Do it again !" 



WHERE'S ANNETTE? 

Stop ! stranger, may I speak with you ? ah ! yes, you 

needn't fear. 
Till I whisper through the grating. I wouldn't have 

them hear. 
These jailers, if a body but chance to speak her name, 
They roll their eyes so savage, as if they meant to 
. tame 



And Successful Selections. .iiJ'.i 

* 
Some wild beast, and the\' scare me. Come nearer — 

nearer }'et ; 
Come near till I whisper; have you seen her — seen 
Annette ? 

She has blue eyes — my darling ; her curls are rings of 
gold; 

She is so plump and dimpled, and she's just three 
years old. 

You'll know if you have seen her, because there can- 
not be 

'?^Iong all the pretty children, another fair as she. 

Hal ha I she laughs so merry; her soul is full of 
light; 

Her voice is full of music ; she is so bonny bright. 

You ask me, "What about her?" Oh! then you 

haven't heard ? , 

You see, I went out calling and left the little bird 
At home, in care of Sarah, the nurse — I often do. 
\\'ell, well! we ladies chatted, and so the moments 

flew. 
That woman seemed so trusty. Gone I gone I — both 

gone awa}' ! 
Come, think ! you must have seen them — 'twas onh' 

yesterday. 

Yes, stolen — lost, I tell \'ou ! and never an}' trace ! 
Ah! I can see him enter — the anguish in his face — 
After the fruitless searching I "No news?" No 

answer came ; [blame ; 

But, oh I his eyes flashed at me — hih eyes were full of 
And so, when in the midnight I saw him pacing there. 
And heard his restless footsteps, 'twas more than I 

could bear. 



210 Practice of Speech 



Then I crept softly, softly, among the shadows dim ; 
I said, '' I'll go and find her and bring her back to 

him." 
I wandered till the daybreak and till the set of sun : 
'' Say, have you seen my baby ?" I asked of every one ; 
" Her eyes are blue and merry ; her hair as bright as 

gold ; [old;* 

She is so plump and dimpled, and she's just three years 

And none of them had seen her — they only stared 

at me. 
And so I wandered, wandered, until I reached the sea. 
So far across the waters ! the days they were like 

years, 
And all the surging billows were troubledwith her tears, 
And all the winds were sobbing ; "Mamma ! Mamma !" 

they cried. 
She could not hear me answer, there on the ocean 

wide. 

And when we reached the harbor, I was so glad at last, 

I hurried off to find her ; I hurried off so fast 

I could not stay for nightfall, I could not stay for 

noon, 
I thought to hurry, hurry, and find her very soon. 
From town to town I wandered ; I asked of all I met, 
'' Say, have you seen my baby ? Say, have you seen 

Annette ?" 

Oh ! I was sure I heard her ; oh ! I was sure that time 
I heard her rippling laughter. So, up and up I climb; 
I clamber up the hillside: ''Annette! Annette!" I 

call. 
'Tis but the shepherd's children — 'tis not Annette 

at all. 



And Successful Selections, 211 



So, up and down the mountains, and through the 

forest wild, 
I wander — wander — calHng and searching for my 

child. 

The rain falls on )'ou sometimes, and sometimes falls 

the snow ; 
The people they stare at you and laugh where'er 

you go ; 
And often one is weary, and often one is cold, 
And there's a creature haunts me; she's wrinkled, 

w^eird and old ; 
Her locks are white as silver, her eyes they gleam 

and glare ; 
She is so ragged, ragged I I meet her everywhere. 

She hides behind the windows and follows as I pass ; 
And where the brook runs fast, and through the wet 

low grass 
She follow^s, follows everywhere I I cannot shake her 

off— 
I hear her now behind me — hark at her jeers and 

scoff I — 
"Annette, dear Annette!" how her voice does thrill 

me through : 
She knocks at every door — she's standing now by you. 

What did they bring me here for? I say, I want to 

go! 
How shall I ever find her, when I am locked in so? 
They lied to me ! They told me — 'twas once there in 

the street 
Where I sat on a door-step, to rest my aching feet — 
They said, '' We'll lead you to her," and many times 

said " Come!" 
At last I followed, eager to find my little one. 



212 Practice of Speech 



I found a prison — curse them ! Wait till I whisper 

low. 
They just humbug the public ! They bring you here 

to show 
How high are all the ceilings, and how the floors are 

white — 
And yet they steal my darling, and keep her out of 

sight ; 
And when I bid them bring her, they promise '' By 

and by !" 
Just turn the key, please, won't you ? and let me slip 

out, sly ! 

Her father's waiting for her ; he's pacing to and fro, 
Among the lonesome midnight. Oh ! please, I want 

to go- 
lf I could take her to him, and say '' Here is Annette !'' 
Then all the years of waiting I'm sure he would for- 

p"et ' 
And he would look no blaming ; and, oh ! there w^ould 

be three, 
That the very angels bright could scarcely gladder be. 

You iron bars, I'll smash you ! I'll batter down these 

walls ! 
She's crying, oh ! she 's crying ! '' Mamma ! mamma !" 

she calls. [there ! 

If I were strong as Samson ! Oh ! help ! you people 
You lied to me! Aw^ay then! come near me if you 

dare ! 
Oh ! pity, pity, people ! Oh ! please to let me go ! 
Where is Annette ? where is she ? Does anybody 

know ? 



And Successful Selections. 2i:j 

MODEL DISCOURSE. 

The followinir is a satire on a class of sermons now less tiXMiuently heard 
than formerly. 

" Brethren^ the words of my text are : 

*' ' Old ^Mother Hubbard, she went to the cupboard, 
To get her poor dog a bone ; 
But when she got there, the cupboard was bare. 
And so the poor dog had none." 

"These beautiful words, dear friends, carry with 
them a solemn lesson. I propose this evening to 
analyze their meaning, and to attempt to apply it, lofty 
as it may be, to our every day life. 

'* Mother Hubbard, you see, was old ; there being 
no mention of others, we may presume that she was 
alone — a widow, a friendless, solitary old widow\ Yet, 
did she despair? Did she sit down and weep, or read 
a novel, or wring her hands? No ! She went to the 
cupboard. And here observe, that she w^ent to the 
cupboard. She went to the cupboard. She did not 
hop, or skip, or run, or jump, or use any other 
peripatetic artifice ; she solely and merely went to 
the cupboard. We have seen that she was old 
and lonely, and we now further see she was poor. 
For, mark, the words are, ' t/ie cupboard,' not 
' one of the cupboards,' or ' the right-hand cupboard,' 
or * the left hand cupboard,' or ' the one above,' or 'the 
one below,' or 'the one under the floor,' but just '//ic 
cupboard,' — the one humble little cupboard the widow 
possessed. And why did she go to the cupboard ? 
Was it to bring forth golden goblets, or glittering 
precious stones, or costly apparel, or feasts, or any 
other attributes to wealth ? It was * to get her poor 
dog a bone.' Not only was the widow poor, but her 
dog, the sole prop of her age, was poor also. We 



U4 Practice of Speech 



can imagine the scene. The poor dog crouching in 
the corner, looking wistfully at the solitary cupboard, 
and the widow going to that cupboard in hope, in 
expectation, may-be, to open it, although we are not 
distinctly told that it was not half open or ajar — to 
open it for that poor dog. 

" ' But when she got there, the cupboard was bare. 
And so the poor dog had none.' 

** When she got there ! You see, dear brethren, 
what perseverance is. You see the beauty of persist- 
ence in doing right. She got there. There were no 
turnings and twa stings, no slippings and slidings, no 
leaning to the right or faltering to the left. With 
glorious simplicity we are told ' she got there.' And 
how was her noble effort rewarded ? ' The cupboard 
w^as bare.' It was bare I There were to be found 
neither apples nor oranges, nor cheese-cakes, nor penny 
buns, nor ginger-bread, nor crackers, nor nuts, nor 
lucifer matches. The cupboard was bare. Had there 
been a leg of mutton, a loin of lamb, a fillet of veal, 
even an ice from Gunter's, the case would have been 
very different, the incident w^ould have been otherwise. 
But it was bare, my brethren — bare as a bald head. 
Many of you will probably say, with all the pride of 
wordly sophistry, ' The widow, no doubt, went out 
and bought a dog biscuit.' Ah,no I Far removed from 
these earthly ideas, these mundane desires, poor Mother 
Hubbard, the widow, whom many thoughtless world- 
lings would despise, in that she only owned one cup- 
board, perceived — or I might even say saw — at once 
the relentless logic of the situation, and yielded to it 
with all the heroism of that nature which had enabled 
her without deviation to reach the barren cupboard. 
She did not attempt, like the stiff-necked scoffers of 



A.n(J Successful Selections. il^ 



this generation, to war against the inevitable ; she did 
not try. like the so-called men of science, to explain 
what she did not understand. She did nothing. ' The 
poor dog had none!' And then at this point oiir 
information ceases. But do we not know sufficient ? 
Are we not cognizant of enough? Who would dare 
to pierce the veil that shrouds the ulterior fate of Old 
Mother Hubbard, her poor dog, the cupboard, or the 
bone that was not there ? Must we imagine her still 
standing by the open cupboard door, depict to our- 
selves the dog, still drooping his disappointed tail on 
the floor, the sought-for bone remaining somewhere 
else ? Ah, no I my brethren, we are not so permitted 
to try and read the future. Suffice it for us to try and 
Mean from this beautiful storv its manv lessons ; suf- 
fice it for us to apply them, to study them, as far as 
in us lies, and bearing in mind the natural frailty of 
our nature, to avoid being w^idows, to shun the 
patronymic of Hubbard, and have, if our means 
afford it, more than one cupboard in the house ; and 
to keep stores in them all. And oh ! dear friends, 
keeping in recollection what we have learned this day, 
let us avoid keeping dogs. They are fond of bones. 
But, brethren, if we do ; if fate has ordained we should 
do anything of these things, let us then go, as Mother 
Hubbard did, straight, without cur\ eting or prajncing, to 
our cupboard, empty. though it be; let us, like her, accept 
the inevitable w^ith calm steadfastness; and should we, 
like her, ever be left with a hungry dog and an empty 
cupboard, may future chroniclers be able to write also 
of us in the beautiful words of our text : 'And so the 
poor dog had none.' " 



2i6 Practice of Speech 



ONE OF HIS NAMES. 

BY JOSEPHINE POLLARD. 

Never a boy had so many names ; 
They called him Jimmy, and Jim, and James, 
Jeems and Jamie ; and well he knew 
Who it was that wanted him, too. 

The boys in the street ran after him, 
Shouting out loudly, ''Jim, Hey, J-i-m-m ! " 
Until the echoes, little and big, 
Seemed to be dancing a Jim Crow jig. 

And little Mabel out in the hall 
" Jim-;;/j|/ / Jim-;;/j/.^" would sweetly call, 
Until he answered, and let her know 
Where she might find him ; she loved him so. 

Grandpapa, who was dignified. 

And held his head with an air of pride, 

Didn't believe in abridging names, 

And made the mostthat he could of J-a-m-e-s." 

But if Papa ever wanted him, 
Crisp and curt was the summons " Jim ! " 
That would make the boy on his errands run 
Much faster than if he had said '' My son." 

Biddy O'Flynn could never, it seems, 
Call him anything else but '' Jeems," 
And when the nurse, old Mrs. McVyse, 
Called him '' Jamie," it sounded nice. 

But sweeter and dearer than all the rest, 
Was the one pet name that he liked the best ; 
" Darling ! " — he heard it whate'er he was at, 
For none but his mother called him that. 



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